Above and Beyond
by A Realm Above
Summary: When Demyx enrolled in college, he knew it couldn't be as hard as the life he'd left behind. What they don't tell you about the process of healing, however, is that most times, you can't do it alone. [Zemyx]
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** I figured I might as well post this four-shot, since I'll be without a computer for a few months in about a week. Love it, hate it, don't feel one way or the other, just let me know- also, if I should continue posting it or not. Personally, I kind of like the idea of Demyx as a little more mature than he's portrayed in the games.

Also, the picture for this comes from deviant art, and it's called "Poisoned Skies", by the artist Disthymya. Check'em out, they've got some great stuff.

Anywho, enjoy.

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><p>I was nervous.<p>

In my life, I'd done a lot of stuff that a lot of people would get nervous about- performing in front of thousands of people, public speaking, getting shot at- but for the most part, none of that made me _too _nervous. Except for the getting shot at part. That always got me.

But as of my first day back in school, I was nervous about something else.

When I say something else, I mean my freakin' _life_. You got it, right?

It was a hot August day, the sun a diamond in the sky providing a curiously golden backlight to the puffy clouds skidding from one end of the horizon to the other. I bounced along the sidewalk, hands grasping my back pack straps, humming along to my iPod, trying to ignore the feeling of everyone looking at me; in my defense, it was harder than it seemed. I could imagine what they were thinking- who is this guy, skipping around here like some freshman, looking so _old_? It made me walk faster, take bigger steps, and generally feel like sprinting all the way to my next class.

Like I said, I was nervous.

By the time I got to the building my class was in, I had a light sweat going; power walking in jeans and a black button down shirt in the Florida sun will do that to you. Don't judge.

As I walked through the glass doors, a wave of cool (and blessedly _dry_) air washed over me, and I paused, breathing a deep sigh. A quick glance at my watch told me I was still twenty minutes early for my class- early is on time, on time is late, and all- so I unslung my bag from my shoulders and eyed the couch that was placed so conveniently next to a water fountain.

I looked around, wondering only for a moment if it was okay for me to sit, before I just thought, fuck it. Better to ask forgiveness than permission, right? With another sigh, I dropped into the cushions, and let my head loll back.

Kids- I mean, _students_- walked passed me, going in and out of the building, some hurrying, others, chatting with friends. I wanted to keep my eyes closed, maybe catch a mini-nap or something- but every time someone would walk by, my eyes would open a little bit. It bugged me. I kept telling myself, hey, man, chill out. You're safe. C'mon.

Still, I'd crack an eyelid at every approach, just to make sure.

Over there they called it situational awareness. Here it's just paranoia.

By the time I was all cooled off from my light jog to the building, I was feeling sleepy. The couch was just too damn comfortable, really. Right underneath an air vent, cushions all soft-but-not-too-soft, just warm enough against my back. I huffed a breath as another pair of kids, neither of'em older than twenty, walked by me, joking and laughing. I couldn't help but look at their hands.

With a spike of irritation, I crossed my arms against my chest, resolving to let the next person pass without looking. I could do it. I _knew_ I could do it. I'd done harder things. Goddamn it, I was totally capable of keeping my eyes closed. Let's do it. Rah.

I heard the door open, and the kid- I assumed it was a kid, 'cause his shoes made almost no noise, so they had to be rubber soled- stopped after a few steps. I really hoped he wasn't looking at me. I figured I looked weird enough- being older than a great majority of the students at the university- but more than that, I felt the beginnings of panic.

I couldn't see his hands.

I couldn't see _anything_.

Why the hell was he just _standing there_?

Come on kid, _go_. Gah, what the _fuck_?

My eyes snapped open and I realized I was panting and gasping for air, and that pesky sweat had come back. The kid in front of me- for yes, it was a kid, eighteen, maybe nineteen, with slate gray hair hiding half his face- was stopped, staring at me like I had two heads.

I took a big gulp of air and blew it out hard, looking away from the kid, trying to tell myself it wasn't weird that I was hyperventilating in front of some stranger because I'd kept my eyes closed for a second. Despite my best efforts, though, I couldn't help but blush. My whole plan of blending in with the student population was clearly off to a great start.

"Are you alright?"

I jumped a little when the kid spoke, but I looked at him. He still looked at me like I was insane, and he gripped his professional looking messenger bag like he was prepared to defend himself with it.

"Um. Yeah. Sorry. Bad dream." I tried to ignore the silly little fluttery feeling I got in my stomach from looking at him- cute guys kind of have that effect on me- and instead flashed him a smile that I hoped was two parts convincing, one part charming. I then realized I was hugging myself like a long lost lover, and immediately untangled my arms.

The boy, in the meantime, had raised an eyebrow at my disconnected statements. He shifted his weight on the balls of his feet, apparently eager to be out of my presence, and muttered, "Well, alright then," before turning and pacing away from me as fast as his black slacks would allow.

I watched him go, then ran a hand through my hair.

College was already off to a great start.

-.-.

I strolled into my Philosophy class, hoping I was in the right room. It was still five minutes until the class started, but I wasn't the only one to show up early. In the far back row, a girl in a straw cowboy hat was reading a book. A really dark guy sporting a soccer shirt with the Jamaican flag on it leaned his chin on the heel of his hand. He looked asleep.

And in the front row, the kid who'd scared the ever loving Christ out of me sat, hands folded neatly in his lap. Just my luck. You'd have thought I pissed in God's cornflakes, the way my day was going.

The kid glanced at me as I walked in, and I blushed and looked away; chose a seat near the front, but far from him. Hopefully the rest of the class wouldn't be able to tell I was a freak when they walked in.

In the time between when I sat down and when the teacher closed the door behind him, a good thirty or forty students spilled in the classroom, some of them just barely getting in before the door closed. I snorted a laugh. They were paying forty thousand a year to be late to class? Fuck_ that_ noise.

The class itself, Philosophy 101, was, judging from the course outline, exactly what I expected it to be: an absolute waste of time, a filler for my GPA. It cheered me up, knowing I was going to get an A so early on in the semester. As the teacher described the grading scale, I let my mind wander- the apartment I'd rented with my buddy Axel, the new motorcycle I'd bought, the kid in the front row- wait, hold on. Forget that last bit.

I tried to redirect my thoughts from him, but to my chagrin, I couldn't. It irked me that he'd looked at me like I was crazy.

I _wasn't_.

Well… Not really, anyway. Maybe just a little.

I glanced at him, then back to the teacher.

And back. And forth.

Near the end of the class, the teacher took a moment to call roll, and I piped up when he said my name, but didn't pay much attention to anything else he said. That is, until he started pointing and counting.

"One, two, three, four…"

I leaned over to the kid next to me, whispering, "What's goin' on now? Why's he counting?"

He smiled brightlty in response. "He's giving us our project partners. We'll be working together and stuff for the rest of the semester."

I thanked him with a smile, but my heart sank at his words. Partner? I didn't want a partner; education was hard enough for me, myself and I, without having to worry about some snot nosed brat who'd just left mommy and daddy for the first time. Five years ago, I wouldn't have given two shits about my grades, but now was another matter. School meant, if nothing else, a promotion.

The professor pointed at me, "Six," and moved on. I looked around, and to my surprise, caught Front Row kid staring at me.

Well, not so much _staring_ as glaring, but whatever. Practically the same thing.

When the professor finished counting, he walked back to the front of the room, telling us to pair up with people who had our number and get to know them a little. I could practically hear the sadistic laughter in his voice. Bastard.

Front Row kid waved a hand at me, pulling me from my "I hate you" stare at the professor, to raise a questioning brow at him. He sighed theatrically.

"You got six, right?"

I nodded.

"Then I'm your partner. Come down here."

It irked me that this kid thought he rated ordering me around, but I let it slide. First day of school. Play nice with the other kids, Demyx.

I yanked my bag off the floor, walked down the stairs and behind other kids, dropping into the seat next to the kid.

I had to admit, he was pretty cute, especially close up. Soft skin, cute, pouty lips, and it looked like he had some baby blues that could make even straight guys swoon. But something in his mannerisms was beginning to rub me the wrong way. I couldn't figure out what it was.

"So," he started speaking, and it kind of caught me by surprise. He looked like the quiet type. I'll admit, he had me fooled. "I don't expect you to understand, but I am extremely serious about class. It's fine if you don't feel you need to contribute to our group projects, but I will not let my grades suffer. However, if you do not pull your weight, I will make sure the professor knows it, and you can expect a lower grade than me."

Oh, _that's_ what it is. He's an asshole.

After the surprise had worn off from his little speech, I glared at him. Suddenly, he wasn't as cute as before he'd opened his mouth. Pretentious little dick.

"Look, kid, you do what you want, but I'm here at college to do work." I felt embarrassed, like I wasn't using big enough words. The kid scoffed, and my scowl deepened. "Some of us actually come here to get an education, and- oh, hey, newsflash- not _all_ of us depend on mommy and daddy to pay for it. So you can sit there and talk down to me all you want, but I'm all about college." I resisted mightily the urge to add _and stuff_, but it still seemed too little, too late.

The kid turned his head to me, giving me the once over with his one visible eye, and- god, can you believe the balls on this kid?- muttered, "Better late than never, I suppose."

I'm not one for violence, and I'll be the first to tell you; but right then, I seriously considered a change in policy. "Excuse me?" I hissed through clenched teeth. This kid was just pressing every button I owned, and then some, y'know?

"Well," he studied his fingernails in a disinterested manner, "clearly you either fell off the wagon or missed the train completely for your first time in higher education. I'm not judging you, of course-" his tone _clearly_ implied he was, "- but aren't you a little old to be taking a class whose students are composed mainly of freshman and sophomore undergraduates? Perhaps your priorities have changed since you were _my_ age, but I won't leave my grades up to chance."

I knew I was blushing. My face felt hot, along with the rest of my body, but I told myself I wasn't going to punch him square in the nose. I wasn't one for violence, after all- but he hit the nail pretty solidly on the head. God, what a _dick._

With a huff, I crossed my arms over my chest again, faced forward and leaned back in my chair, kicking my feet up on the desk. "Yeah, well…" I crossed my arms tighter over my chest. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw this motherfucker smirk and shake his head. I breathed deeply through my nose. "Running around in a desert and getting shot at on the other side of the world for four years does amazing things for your priorities." I hoped he could hear the unspoken _asshole_ at the end of that sentence, but I didn't bet on it.

The smirk had disappeared, and now it appeared that _he_ was blushing- which would have, maybe, kind of, sort of been cute if the kid wasn't a giant douchebag- but he didn't say anything.

The rest of that class passed in awkward silence between us, and when the teacher _finally_ let us go, I was up and out of the door before he was done talking.

As I power-walked to my bike, I couldn't stop the sarcastic thoughts from springing to mind, shaking my head at the idea of spending the next five months partnered with that snarky little jerk face.

College was going to be _great._

-.-.

The next day was better.

And when I say better, I mean "pants-shittingly terrifying". You followed that, right?

The first two classes of the day were easy enough. A speech class, a math class- but that's where the normal ended, and quite abruptly, at that.

See, I chose the college I chose for one reason, and one reason only: it was literally across the street from where I went to high school, which was a block or so away from where I grew up as a kid. I came back to my hometown in Florida after five years running around getting shot at in some desert shit hole because, why the hell not? I figure once you've made being shot at your occupational specialty, there isn't a whole lot any one can say to make you regret a decision.

However, the instructor for my third class that Tuesday was about as close as anyone's ever come to making me wish I'd chosen some quiet college in the Northeast, instead of the world's best aeronautical university.

"So, Demyx, why don't you land the plane?"

Let me explain something, just real quick; I'd never flown anything, ever, at all, prior to that discovery flight that constituted my first flight block. And that flight block was considered a legitimate class, that I could very well fail if I didn't meet the standards.

So when my instructor pilot had told me we were going flying for our first class, I thought, hey, yeah- that's pretty sweet. I was pretty lucky. But when he told me to land the airplane, the first thing that popped to mind was that I'd be the first student in ten years to crash an airplane. Everyone would think I was just another dumb grunt who failed at college. Worse, though, I'd die having been celibate for over a year, not even getting to bone that cute kid in my Philoso- ah, hell. There I go again.

I turned to my IP, with this kind of placating smile, hoping he was joking- no dice. He was grinning broadly at me, and though I couldn't see his eyes behind the aviator glasses, I can say with utter confidence that his expression was nothing short of malicious.

"I, uh, don't think-"

"No, really, it's fine! You'll do fine!"

"Yeah, I know that, but maybe-"

"Demyx, you have the flight controls."

I won't tell you I let out something between a whine and gurgle then, but I won't deny it either.

And it was in that manner that my first Tuesday back at college went from "oh hey, I think I can do this," to "Oh, God, please don't let me die here" in under an hour and a half of engine time.

By the arrival of Philosophy 101 on Wednesday, I was quite sure that between irritatingly obnoxious project partners and psychotic pilots that vastly overrated the abilities of ground pounders like myself, I was probably going to struggle more with college than I had with infantry.

-.-.

As soon as I walked into class that day, I wanted to walk right back out.

Front Row kid- whose name I had yet to find out- was sitting in the exact same spot as the first class, with his little binder and pencils and pens all set out and neatly organized. He glanced up at me as I walked in, and _boy_, you just wouldn't think there could be so much contempt in eyes that pretty. It was a shame, I thought to myself as I decided to be the most obnoxious asshole I could. In my line of work, cute guys were hard to come by, and even then, there was that whole thing about getting kicked out of my job for wanting to bone another person with dangly bits.

Too damn bad then, I thought again, dropping my stuff and settling in nice and close to Front Row kid. The first cute guy I see when I'm finally not danger close to the big green weenie happens to be a total prick.

As if he could hear what I was thinking, he turned his head towards me, crossing his arms firmly over his chest, tucking his chin, and curling his lip in a sneer.

I grinned cheerily up at him after leaning back, resting my feet on the table and intertwining my fingers over my stomach. If this guy wanted to be a douchebag, well, let him. That's a game I can _easily_ get in on.

Wordlessly, he turned away from me, bristling.

I sighed contentedly, wiggling my foot in the empty air. Considered for a moment putting my earphones back in until class started. Maybe through the duration of class. I mean, really, who the fuck cares about Philosophy? I bet the _professor_ didn't even give a fuck. And then the kid spoke in a rush, and I had to hide the self satisfied grin that snuck across my lips. Waiting game = success.

"Listen, I didn't mean to offend you the other day."

I closed my eyes, and gave up trying to hide my smile.

"Right."

He huffed a breath. "I _didn't_. You took offense for no reason. I was simply trying to tell you-"

"So you calling me old was no reason?"

"-how serious I am about gr- _no, _I mean-" he broke off, flustered. "That was my mistake. I shouldn't have judged you. But in my defense, _you_ attacked _me_ first."

I didn't say anything for a second, instead opened my eyes to study him.

Minus the whole douchebag thing, he didn't seem to be that bad of a guy. Young, maybe- I guess that comment about mommy and daddy had struck home- but he didn't look like someone who was an asshole. At least, not a constant, purposeful asshole, anyway.

He was still in his defensive posture, arms crossed, chin tucked, single visible eye darting back and forth between me and whatever it was that interested him on his blank sheet of notebook paper.

I let my grin soften into a genuine smile with a sigh, and stuck out my hand. I could let a teeny-tiny bit of douchebaggery slide, especially for a cute guy. So what if I'm shallow? I'm a lover, not a fighter. Kind of.

"Fine. Th'name's Demyx."

He gazed at my hand for a second, looking all kinds of reluctant, before tentatively reaching out to shake. To my surprise, he had a pretty firm grip, despite the expression on his face that said he'd rather not be touching me. I couldn't help but grin a little bit again; he had soft hands. He broke off the handshake a couple of seconds later, but didn't return to that arms crossed business he'd done before.

Leaning forward, he picked up a pencil and began scrutinizing it, spinning it around in his slender fingers.

One, two, three, four, stop. Around. One, two, three, four, stop. Around.

He said something. I wasn't quite paying attention- zoned out watching him twirl the pencil, trying to surreptitiously examine the color of his eye ('cause upon closer inspection, I found some gray in that gorgeous dark blue) without meeting his gaze instead.

"Say wha?"

He glanced at me briefly with an expression that _could_ have meant, 'I know you're retarded, despite how well you hide it', but I figured he didn't mean it that way.

"I said my name is Zexion."

I processed this, trying to project an expression of… Thinking it over. I tapped a finger to my chin just below my lip, gazing at the ceiling.

"Well, Zexion- can I call you Zex? No? Okay, then. Well, Zexion, I think we'll work just fine together."

I grinned again and he sighed, shaking his head. But at least he wasn't being a dick, if only for the time being.

"Just fine, indeed."

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><p>Danger close means being within 600 meters of an artillery strike; in context here, it means being a part of the organization that, while paying the bills, also fucks us. With its large, digital camo winkie.<p>

Thanks for reading, and let me know what you think!

Cheers! - ARA


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** I just wanna thank all the folks who reviewed, and encourage all those who favorite'd or alert'd to do the same. Four days til I'm gone!

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><p>When I got home later that day, I pulled into my parking spot and cut my engine, removing my helmet to find Axel half buried under his Jeep.<p>

Also, they- being Axel and his Jeep- were totally covered in mud.

I decided to keep my judging eyes to myself, because we can't all be good at staying on roads, I guess, and instead of saying anything, I stepped around the puddle of swamp accumulating underneath the back bumper. My helmet dangled from one hand as I shrugged my backpack further up my shoulder and stepped gingerly on to the back porch of the apartment, and through the back door.

The living room of our apartment was cool and dark in comparison to the muggy Florida atmosphere just outside the walls. Strewn over the floor, couches, and tables were cans of Coke and cups that had held more liquor than soda a few nights ago. The place smelled distinctly like vodka.

With a sigh, I dropped my stuff outside my door, stripping my riding jacket off as I moseyed on over to the kitchen and grabbed a jar of Nutella. I briefly considered grabbing a spoon but dismissed the idea almost as soon as it came. My Nutella. My rules. Nom.

I tentatively poked my head back out into the Florida heat and, with another sigh and a groan, stepped out fully and closed the door behind me. I figured Axel needed to tell someone about why it looked like he and his Jeep had narrowly escaped the same fate as countless white people in shitty swamp horror movies.

When I was standing right in front of the Jeep, I realized two things:

1. Axel had managed to get the damn thing buried to the windshield.

2. Somehow, some way, he'd managed to get it unburied… By himself.

3. He was probably going to try and get me to help him clean this monstrosity.

So I meant three things, whatever.

Axel cursed and something clanked underneath the car, but so far as I was concerned, it wasn't my problem. See, Axel was the expert on all things car in our household, because while I, in my bright eyed, bushy tailed youth, had signed the paper for grunt, my soulless ginger roommate had signed on for Motor-T. While this made him infinitesimally smarter than me, it made me endlessly less of a vagina than him.

He swore again and smacked something on the undercarriage of the Jeep. I had, by this time, taken a seat on the curb and was waiting for him to notice my presence. Lucky for me, it didn't take long; another failed attempt at whatever he was doing, and he scooted out from under the Mud Monster (as I had dubbed the poor vehicle), jumping when he caught me staring at him.

"What the f- Demyx, what the _hell_. How do you _do_ that?"

"Do what?"

He narrowed his eyes at me. They were the only part of his body that was not covered in a thick layer of muck.

"Be all… Sneaky and shit. Fucking Ricky-Recon and shit."

I grinned, spooning some Nutella into my mouth. Nom.

"Ish called being aware of your shurroundingsh," I tried to speak through the chocolatey-hazelnutty goodness, but I was only marginally successful. Still, he rolled his eyes at me and rested his head on the door of his car. I wondered if his head would get stuck, what with all the mud and all. I hoped so.

"So how was your third day of school, Princess?"

It was my turn to glare at him. That nickname was strictly forbidden, as it was from a time long ago that nobody but my family and my jerk of a best friend knew about.

"First, fuck you. You know we don't talk about that. You weren't even supposed to see that video." He guffawed at my indignation. Nothing new. "And second… Well, I didn't almost die today. It was kind of nice."

We both went to the same college, but unlike Axel, I had thought it'd be cool to be a pilot major. I mean, it sounds cool, doesn't it? Go in to a bar, see a cute guy- or girl, if that's your thing- and say, "Hey, baby. _I'm a pilot._" It'd be like living as Top Gun, but without the gay montage at the end of the movie.

But it turns out Axel probably got the better deal. He was an Aerospace Engineer major, which meant he never had to go up and risk his life for the sake of a grade. He got to stay on the dirt and make airplanes and shit- or, that's the way he explained it to me, anyway.

Whatever. I still have a better pick up line.

"Well it's a good thing you didn't die, 'cause then I'd only have a limited time to use your death to pick up guys." He scratched a chunk of dirt off his face and flicked it at me. "As it stands now, I can say you're my retarded cousin and I look after you sometimes, and cute boys eat that shit up like fat kids eat cake. Or Nutella. Fatty." He grinned.

"Listen, you," I started, screwing the cap back on my delicious chocolate omnom, "I can eat what I want. And I get more cute boys than you anyway, so shut up." It was kind of lame, I know, but I couldn't think of anything else to say while he stood up and brushed off some dried dirt from his hair. His clothes sloshed when he moved.

"Course ya do, Demmykins. Of course ya do."

I walked with him around the apartment complex to the car cleaning station, so we could hose him off before he came inside the apartment. He told me, in between getting sprayed down and (accidentally) getting sprayed in the face, that he had gone off-roading in his Jeep in the morning, and had spent the rest of the day digging himself out of a super sneaky mud patch only to find that the four wheel drive wouldn't stay locked in position. He'd been trying to fix it when I'd gotten home.

When he was finally clean enough to not drip murky brown water, we headed back to our apartment, where he stripped to his boxers on the back porch, leaving the other clothing out to dry.

I'll admit, he's got a nice body. Tall and kind of lanky, but with a lot of lean muscle from four years of running around the desert fixing Humvees and trucks and shit. I'd had a thing for him in high school, but when we enlisted, homosexuality was still something D.I.'s accused their recruits of when they got really pissed off. We went to boot camp together, and we both knew the other was gay, but thanks to the nature of our jobs, nothing ever came of it.

I'm kind of thankful for that now, though. If we'd been together after getting out of the military, things would be pretty different today.

We walked in to the apartment and Axel's, "Aw, fuck" brought me back from the marvels of air conditioning. He was still dripping, holding himself and shivering, goosebumps raised all over his body.

"My clothes are in the washer. Can I borrow some of yours?"

I shrugged, went into my room and tossed him some sweats and a hoodie. He thanked me, but I didn't say anything, instead sitting on the couch and putting on a movie.

It was a relief when he was fully dressed. After months of celibacy, seeing a half naked man, even if it was my best friend, could certainly come to no good.

-.-.

After classes the next day, I was lounging on the couch, browsing episodes of The Office- 'cause that show is fucking _awkward_- when Axel burst through the backdoor, panting.

"Demyx! Dude!"

I looked up from Netflix, but I sure as hell didn't get up. Usually when Axel was loud and obnoxious like that, he'd tell me sooner rather than later what was on his mind.

"Bro, dude, _dudebro_¸ I'm not tryin' to be gay, but there's this fucking _cute_ guy in my calculus class. Blonde hair, blue eyes, cute ass- No homo, of course."

Look, I didn't judge. We'd been practically raised in the military; old habits die hard, and as long as you say 'no homo' anywhere in the same breath as something clearly homo, then you wouldn't get kicked out/rank busted/set on fire. It just _be_ like that.

Still, I did poke at him a bit. C'mon, it's _Axel_.

"No homo?"

"Yeah, bro. No homo."

"So like, on a scale of Halle Berry to Heath Ledger…?"

He made a face as he threw his bag down and hopped over the couch, grabbing my bowl of delicious oatmeal omnom.

"How am I supposed to put him on that scale? Both ends are sexy as fuck."

"Well, one end has a penis. That was kind of the point."

He didn't try to talk as he spooned some of my food into his mouth.

"Well… What's the middle ground lookin' like?"

"… Have you seen that youtube video with Old Greg?"

That got him choking. Sometimes, messing with him was really too much fun.

"Wait, so you have some kind of reverse bell curve of attractiveness on a scale that ranges from female to male? Man, _fuck_ you. That's not fair."

I shrugged, snatching my bowl back.

"You can totally say Heath Ledger if it makes you feel better."

He glared at me, but didn't respond. We sat there in silence for a moment or two- long enough for me to find the episode of The Office I wanted to watch (Scott's Tots, by the way) before he spoke again.

"So he's totally fucking gorgeous. Nnnnn- nnyeah." He almost said No Homo. Almost, but not quite. Demyx: +1.

I feigned indifference, but I won't lie; I was kind of, a little bit jealous. Not quite sure of who, though.

"So what are you gonna do about it?"

He seemed to think it over. "Well, I'm pretty sure he's gay. Maybe I can convince him that boning me is in his best interest." Then he grinned and poked me in the ribs. I jumped. From surprise. 'Cause I'm not ticklish, damn it.

"After all, my dear sweet Demmykins, I _am_ one sexy motherfucker. Like, I'd fuck me. No homo."

I shook my head, but suddenly, I couldn't stop thinking about Front Row Kid- Zexion. Sweet (maybe), young (definitely) Zexion, approached by my crazy haired, tatt'd up roommate. What if he thought Axel was sexy? Shit, I'm not gonna lie- I'd be _pissed_. That kinda surprised me more than anything else.

"Bro, this kid is probably straight as an arrow. I don't think you have the patience to try and make him switch up his tune."

Axel shook his head and closed his eyes. I got the feeling he was picturing Blonde Haired, Blue Eyed, Cute Assed kid. Probably naked.

"Man, I'd eat a mile of his shit just to see where it came from."

I grimaced. Literally, that has to be one of the most fucking disgusting sayings in the military. I don't know if the Army says it, but we fucking did all the time. Really. Gross.

"Seriously, dude? Ugh."

He laughed at me- my facial expression, I guess, or maybe my squeamishness- and shrugged.

"Fine. I'd drag my dick through a mile of broken glass just to rub it on his leg."

That was supposed to be better?

"Ew, man. A, you totally stole that from Terminal Lance, and B, I don't want to think about your dick on anybody's leg, regardless of what you drag it through to get there. Fucking queermo."

He threw his hands up in defeat and I got my seven daily chuckles at his expense as I went to rinse my bowl out.

-.-.

It was about a week after that, that shit got real.

Like, _really_ real.

I was in the chow hall- uhh, the cafeteria?- whatever, I was walking through a big ol' lunchroom, carrying a tray of what the college passed off as Chinese food, when I saw Zexion.

Now, it wasn't surprising that I saw him; after all, the kid goes to the college, and I'm sure he needs to eat. No, what was surprising was that he was _with_ somebody.

Axel had been talking about that blonde literally every second of the week I'd spent with him. I had actually gotten tired of making gay jokes 'cause it was too easy. But when I saw Zexion, and the kid he was with, I got this _hunch_. On some Velma type shit, you know? The kid sitting with my Philosophy partner was blonde, blue eyed, and incredibly young looking.

Though that last part had never deterred Axel in the past. _Jinkies._

But I got this _hunch,_ right? Even though there had to be thousands of guys on campus, I got the feeling that _that_ particular blonde was in fact the one Axel had a boner for, and he was sitting with the kid that _I_ had a- well, that I thought was cute.

So my spidey senses were tingling. I'll be honest with ya, I was kind of interested in the pair. From what I'd seen, Zexion was a pretty frosty character.

I mean, not to be cocky- but I think I'm pretty fucking friendly and shit. But I hadn't even been able to wrangle a _major_ out of this kid. For all I knew, he could be some Civil Engineering geek. Every time I talked to him, he looked at me like, "Isn't there a flavored window on the short bus with your name on it?" and it kind of discouraged me. A little bit.

Well, a lotta bit.

Okay, so sue me. The first guy I find really attractive without fear of reprisal from on high shoots me down without saying a word, and it discouraged _the fuck_ out of me.

Yet, here he was with this blonde, conversing and shit; he actually looked like he was _paying attention._ I either got indifference or the flavored windows look.

By this point, I'd chosen a little two seater table by the glass wall and was pretending to not stare at the two while forking fried rice down my gullet faster than good health dictated. The blonde's back was to me, but I got a pretty good view of Zexion. He was engaged- leaning forward, brows furrowed- and because of this, I went unnoticed.

I was kind of giving myself the creeps though. There's collecting enemy intel, and then there's kind of, sort of, stalking. I'm pretty sure what I was doing was the latter.

But then it happened.

Zexion _smiled_.

And it wasn't this little smirk he does when he's being condescending- I'd seen quite a bit of _that_- no, it was a genuine, smile, and it crinkled his visible eye up at the corner, and his ears moved back a little bit, and I choked at first.

Then I literally could not do _anything_ besides stare.

Scratch what I said about "cute". This kid was fucking _gorgeous_.

I suddenly understood Axel's fascination with his little blonde jailbait much better; I would gladly drag my dick through a mile of discarded heroin needles just to put it _near_ Zexion's leg. God_damn_.

As I thought that last bit, he looked up, and caught my eye, and I realized I was staring like there was indeed a flavored window I should have been attending to. He narrowed his eyes and I decided then that it was about time I reevaluated my whole damn game plan.

I'll be damned if I've ever gotten out of a building so fast.

-.-.

The next time I saw him was the week after that life changing smile I witnessed.

He wasn't in class that Friday, and we didn't have class Monday, so by the time Wednesday rolled around, I was pretty hopeful that he wouldn't even remember that he'd caught me drooling all over my table staring at him.

Have I made it clear that my luck doesn't quite work that way?

As soon as I walked in, that hostile body language was back. Arms crossed, chin tucked, glaring at the board like it had said something about his mom. Or written something. You know what I mean.

I dropped my bag on the desk in front of my seat, and plopped down next to him, folding my hands in my lap and waited for him to speak.

And waited.

Aaaand waited.

So I've done some pretty messed up things before in my life. Cheated on a girlfriend in highschool. Shot at people. Leveled a weapon at a kid, once. I got chewed out for that one, even though I couldn't see what was in his hand- and trust me, rocks look a _damn_ sight similar to fucking _grenades_ when you're moving fast- but I swear, that shoulder was the coldest I'd gotten in a _long_ time.

Zexion didn't say a word to me that _whole_ class, 'til the very end. After the prof dismissed us, Zexion slid his glare to me, then back to the copious notes he'd taken, and back. He looked like he wanted to cuss me out.

Shit, why was he so mad?

I mean, yeah, I stared at him. But what the hell? What's so bad about that?

He huffed a breath, opening his bag and sliding his folders and binders in. "I would greatly appreciate it if you would _stop_… If you would kindly…" he scowled, huffed again. "If you would stop _looking_ at me."

My eyebrows couldn't go any higher. Seriously.

"Are you serious?"

His scowl morphed into a glare. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't believe homeboy _could_ smile.

"Of _course_ I'm serious. It makes me uncomfortable." His movements were jerky, face a little flushed. He looked more than uncomfortable- he looked spittin' mad. I suddenly got this thought, and before I could stop it, it came out of my mouth.

"Do you curse?"

He slowed to a stop, staring at me. I couldn't help the, "Oh, shit, I forgot to change my stupidity filter!" look on my face, but it was okay- the expression he was sporting reminded me, anyway.

"Excuse me?"

"Do you curse? Like, swear words?" What's a mistake made once, after all? It only counts if you ask the same dumb ass question three times, when you shouldn't ask it at all.

His glare returned, this time absolutely _poisonous_. God, this kid had buttons I didn't even know _existed_.

"Vulgarities are a crutch for the verbally inept and weak minded. So no, I don't use _swear words_."

For some reason, this struck me as hilarious. I managed to keep my laughter inside, however, I couldn't stop my lips from twitching up into a grin, and this did wonders for the kid's mood. With a frustrated, "Ugh," he stood, roughly pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder. "Do you have to be so… So absolutely… Agh, _infuriating_?"

I smiled slyly. "You mean _fucking_ infuriating?" Okay, so what if I was alienating him? He'd calm down eventually. And this was literally too much fun to _not_ do.

With narrowed eyes, he glanced at me once more before storming out of the classroom.

After he left, I leaned back, grinning openly, and wondered how in the _hell_ I was gonna convince this uptight grammar nazi to want me.

* * *

><p>The whole thing about "I'd eat a mile of his(her) shit just to see where it came from" is totally true. That shit really does gross me out. Anywho.<p>

Tell your friends! Tell your family! Review anonymously, if you have to!

- ARA


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** So here's chapter 3. Longest chapter yet, but I''m really trying to crank this out before I go off to save the world (_and stuff_). I get the feeling I won't be finished publishing this story before I'm gone, so in the event that happens, I apologize in advance. I'll finish it when I have access to a computer again.

Review!

* * *

><p>"So, hey-"<p>

"No."

"-I was wondering-"

"No."

"-that project we have to do?"

"No."

"Maybe we should start on it some time."

"No."

"No?"

"No."

I had underestimated Zexion's resolve.

It was near the end of September. Way back when, you know- back when I was young and stupid, or in other words, "August"- I thought that pissing off my slate haired project partner was a good idea. I got my seven chuckles out for the day, and carried on.

Let me just stop and punch _myself in the nuts_.

He hadn't talked to me at all. Like, _at all_, at all.

No initiating conversation. No looking at me. It'd been, what, a month? And he had said about as many words to me as the number of girls Axel has slept with. Which is none, for those of you keeping score at home. Don't let him fool you.

But anyway- Zexion. It was a facepalm on a personal level that I'd screwed myself out of even a friendship with the guy, let alone a friends-with-benefitship; but it was a whole 'nother _level_ of contortionist style self-ass-kicking for me, as now my partner wouldn't even talk about the _project_.

Y'know, that _thing_ that kind of determined a quarter of my grade?

"… But didn't you say you were serious about your gr-"

"I _am_ serious about _my_ grade. As far as I'm concerned, you can go… You can just fail."

My lips twitched of their own accord, I swear, but at least he didn't catch it. He was too busy glaring at the empty whiteboard. The prof was nowhere to be found, it was raining cats and dogs, and I had a hunch- there's that Velma shit again- that at least half the class wouldn't show up today. That may or may not even include the prof.

So far, it was me, Zexion, and Cowboy Hat sitting in the back playing Angry Birds.

"You know this is a group project, right? Like, we have to work together as a _unit_."

He huffed and said simply, "I don't want to."

Now, look. I haven't rolled my eyes since I was like, thirteen. But I came close, that day.

"I don't care what you want, _kid_, I'm not failing 'cause you don't wanna play nice." _And stuff_.

He still didn't look at me, but I saw his jaw clench. He probably didn't realize it, but his body language made up for his lack of vocal language in spades. How do I know this?

You gotta pick up on other forms of communication quick when there's no common language, but a whole mess of common hostility. It was the truth in country, and it was the truth back home.

His arms were crossed, shoulders hunched, chin tucked and torso leaned as far away from me as he could get, one leg crossed over the other. I could go into detail and tell you all about what he was unintentionally saying, but you probably get the jist of it; basically, he wasn't having this conversation with me.

"I do not _play nice_ with imbeciles."

Okay, fuck it. I rolled my eyes.

"Come _on_, man. Are you seriously still hung up over…" I didn't know what to call it. I hadn't said anything about him, and we hadn't really _argued_… "Over me picking on you? 'Cause shit, I'll apologize. Look here, right now: I'm sorry. Can we maybe get this project together now?"

He glared at me like I threw his puppy off a cliff.

What, too soon?

"I _said_-"

"Look, dude, if you won't work with me, I'll make sure prof knows about it."

I hated to be the one to say it. There's really nothing worse than a tattle-tell, in my honest-to-gosh opinion, but I was _not_ willing to sacrifice my grades for the combined sakes of his stubbornness and my stupidity. I apologized- shit, I may have even _meant_ it- so if he wasn't gonna compromise, there was gonna be trouble.

His one visible eye widened, eyebrow raised, as if he couldn't believe he'd heard me. That famous line by Chris Rock flashed through my head- y'know, "Do you unnuhstan' the words that are comin' outta mah MOUTH?"- and I had to bite my tongue to keep from giggling, but my grin escaped.

"Are you _serious_?"

"Yup."

"But…" his gaze cut to the board again, and he frowned, "but you're the one who…" glanced back at me, brow still furrowed, "it's not that I'm not willing to _work _with you…"

Then he got all shifty eyed, started fidgeting. Unfolded his arms and rubbed them like he was cold.

"I'm just busy. I don't have time to work with you."

You know what is a key way to tell when someone's lying? They touch their face. It stems from the childish desire to hold back the lie they tell, keep it from leaving their mouth, but as we get older, it becomes less obvious, and is used together with other visual cues. That came in especially handy over there when dealing with those of the local population who were growly-growly at us.

But I didn't even bother narrowing my eyes out of the annoyance I felt when he ran a hand over his mouth. It just wouldn't have helped any. Instead, I remained steadfast in my belief that if I lost it and punched him, he'd never want to do the no pants dance with me. Also, there was the grades to consider.

"I'm free today. Right now, actually…" I trailed off, glancing at my watch. It was a pretty safe bet that class had been cancelled.

"Well, I won't be free until… Next week. Or so."

His voice had that particular inflection of people who _fucking_ _suck_ at lying on the fly. I didn't bother with it though- just snatched my chance before he could realize his mistake: _never_ give me an inch. I'll totally laugh and joke and smile, but the whole time, I'm just inching my way through that mile.

"Next week is fine. Tuesday at twelve?" He replied in the negative; class then.

"When's your last class on Tuesday?"

He shifted, looking around as if someone would come to his rescue (unlikely, since Cowboy Hat was currently committing countless acts of animal cruelty on her iPhone), but in the end, he sighed and hung his head in defeat.

"My last class ends at one Tuesdays and Thursdays. We can meet in the library."

I brightened up considerably, grinning at him as I picked up my bag and my helmet.

"Great! Glad we got this all worked out. See ya Friday!"

He didn't even have the chance to protest.

-.-.

The following week was fun, in the same way that dipping your hand in beer batter and deep frying it is fun.

So, not very.

Zexion _tried_ to not talk to me (unsuccessfully), Axel wouldn't _stop_ talking to me (successfully), and by Tuesday, my Instructor Pilot was telling me it was about time I flew the plane solo.

I checked my watch after my last class Tuesday, and chalked another point up to God, whose cornflakes I must have done worse than piss in- I would have to run across campus to make my meeting with Zexion. There was no doubt in my mind he'd skip out if I was even fractionally late.

To my surprise, however, I made it in record time- a black friend of mine once said I was gifted with "slave feet"- so I stopped by the coffee shop adjacent to the library.

It was your regular, run of the mill chain shop, but as I stepped inside and pulled off the hood of my jacket, I could imagine it being more. Warm lighting and hot coffee were exactly what I needed, considering the weather- which was cold, windy, and overcast at 500 feet- and my clothing, which consisted of shorts, a hoodie and a t-shirt.

I feel like the state of Florida was just like, "Oh, you wanna wear shorts to school, Demyx? That's fine, I'll make it freakishly cold for October today, because _fuck you_, that's why!"

But I checked my watch after I sat down with the warmth from my coffee seeping through my numb fingers, and found that I _still_ had time to spare. I was almost giddy enough to tolerate hearing a Glee song or something. Almost.

I relaxed in my seat, slouching back and running my fingers up and down my cardboard cup.

At that moment, the bell above the door rang, but I didn't bother looking. I was enjoying my _me_ time, quietly dreading having to go and talk to my ice cold project partner.

It occurred to me, after a couple minutes of dozing off in the warm atmosphere, that I hadn't taken a single sip of my coffee- herpaderp, I buy coffee and don't do anything with it- so I cracked an eye to check if it was still steaming.

Lo and behold, there was Zexion, skulking towards the sugar counter, shoulders hunched like he was trying to hide in his own skin.

I caught sight of him- it wouldn't be real fair to say that he caught sight of me, 'cause he had been staring at me when I opened my eyes- and he totally looked ready to flee. I almost felt guilty.

Almost being the operative word.

"Oh, Zexion! _Hey Zexion!_ Over here!"

I hissed a stage whisper at him, and he looked around like there was someone else in the damn shop with a name like that. _No,_ I wasn't calling _you, _Zexion. I was calling the _other_ Zexion. Derp.

He glanced at the door before he brought his panicked gaze back to me. I'd have given about 2.5 seconds before he bolted.

"_Zexyyy! _Come over here, or I'll totes mcgoats make a scene!"

Other people were starting to look between the two of us now, and to my delight, my project partner quickly ducked his head- in what I'll go ahead and say was an adorable attempt to hide the magnificent blush creeping up his neck- and made his way to me.

With a huff, he sat down, placing his coffee with deceptive gentleness on the little square table between us. He didn't look at me. I grinned broadly at him.

"Sooo…"

He glared at the checkerboard on the table.

"How you doin'?" I considered breaking out the ghetto accent, but somehow, I figured this guy wouldn't be much of a fan.

With another huff, he glanced at me, back down to the table, and out the window.

"Fine."

Okay, so he was talking to me. That was a sight better than the last few weeks I'd been in his presence. Let's see how far we could go with this.

"So, um…" he glanced at me as I trailed off, and I wondered just how much dislike someone could ooze before that shit turned caustic and started spewing out his mouth, exorcist style. The imagery was a little disconcerting.

"You are doing it again, Demyx."

Huh?

"Doing what?"

"Staring at me. Please stop."

I like to believe I didn't blush when I looked away, but somehow, he must have figured out that I was embarrassed. He smirked. But hey, I thought, at least he wasn't scowling any more.

"Can I ask you somethin'?"

He quirked an eyebrow at me, but didn't say anything. Considering it wasn't the flavored windows look, or the indifferent look, or the Chris Rock look- I took it as an affirmative.

"What's your major?"

To this he narrowed his eyes again, distrusting. Jeez, he was as defensive as a closeted politician. You'd think I'd punched his mother then lied about it to his face or something. Before he could tell me in a PG-13 way to fuck off, I cut in, saying, "Wait, no, I'm serious. You seem totally smart enough to be an engineering major, but I never see you with any books, or coming out of the-" I almost said 'Nerdery', but corrected myself last second like, "-the Lehman building, and you don't seem uh, cocky enough to be a pilot like me, so, I was just wondering…"

He studied me for a minute, and I started feeling squeamish under his scrutiny. It may be just me, but I kind of think it takes two to have a conversation, like it takes two to tango. The only times it takes less than that is if you're schizophrenic. And I assume that applies to both.

"I am an…" he hesitated, glanced at me, then back out the window, "I'm an English major."

He cringed after he said it, like he expected me to laugh or something, but I just gazed at him for a second before tapping my chin. "Hm."

He looked out the corner of his eye at me, and I saw his brow furrow. Something told me if I could see both sides of his face, he'd probably have the cutest doggone confused expression ever. I added it to my bucket list.

"Is that all you can say? 'Hm'? You're not going to ridicule me, Mister Dangerous Mean Soldier Man?"

It was my turn to quirk my brow. I mean, come on. Dangerous, and/or mean, I could understand. But _Soldier_ Man?

"Well, no; I was gonna ask you too if you're a Classical or Contemporary English major, but I'm feelin' real offended that you think I'm some little Hooah punk." His look was about as blank as a sheet of paper at a redneck writing convention. I tried again.

"I'm not Army."

And I'll be _damned_, the corner of his mouth twitched up into something resembling that radiant smile I saw weeks and weeks ago. My insides promptly did a little jig of _yay!_

"My mistake. And I am a Contemporary English major, for your information."

I grinned, finally sitting back in seat, realizing at the same time that I'd been leaning over the table since he sat down. I was practically in the guy's lap; maybe that's why he'd started off so hostile. Oh well.

"Well, okay. I got ya." He leaned back in his seat as well, never quite losing that little smile of his. I scrambled for something to fill the silence between us before he realized that he was actually not hating being in the same room with me. "So what's your favorite book? Are you reading anything now?"

With a shrug, he reached in his bag, fumbled around for a second, and pulled out a paperback book, dropping it onto the table next to his coffee. "It is actually my favorite book. I'm currently writing an essay on it for one of my classes, so I get to re-read it again."

I picked it up, studying it. After a moment of tracing the raised letters on the cover, I flipped it over, reading over the summary in the back, before setting it back down and meeting Zexion's gaze. It looked like he was trying to hide a smirk, kind of like he was surprised I could read or something. I might have been offended if I didn't like the way it made his eyes light up.

"Ya know, Zexy," his eye twitched at the nickname. Therefore, it was a keeper. "I like Asimov. I've only read a couple of his books, but I like this one the best." If he seemed surprised before, he looked absolutely shocked now.

"You know Asimov?"

"Well, duh, dude. Gotta read something when you're standing post for hours at a time, right?"

He still didn't look like he trusted me, but there was something there. A glimmer of hope, maybe.

"What other stories of his have you read?"

I shrugged and picked up the book again.

"Well, I read _I Am Legend_ before it came out as a movie, and I wasn't really a fan of either version. Then I read _I, Robot_, and I kind of liked it, but again, I couldn't really get into it, partially 'cause it has a tenuous grasp on reality, but mostly 'cause the adaptation was a total Will Smith bonerfest."

Dumbfounded- like I'd told him the sky was green, and then proven it. I grinned at his expression and continued. "So, yeah. _The End of Eternity_ was my favorite, 'cause it seemed realistic, enough- and the _ending_? Oh, that shit was f-" I censored myself, if belatedly, "-ffffreakin' _epic_. Like, really, dude? 'And so began the end of Eternity… And the beginning of _Infinity_.' It was _awesome_."

Now he looked totally delighted. There was that shy, little smile again, growing bigger and bigger as I talked, and his eyes practically _shone_ when I said the word 'awesome'. He was leaning over the table, and he jumped in right as I stopped speaking.

"You are _absolutely right!_ The ending was _amazing_- that's why this book is my favorite! It just makes you _think_, perhaps there are alternate dimensions, all branching off from chance encounters, choices made, along a line of eternity, and then, and then…" he seemed breathless, like he wasn't used to talking so heatedly. May God strike me down, but he was _cute_. No homo.

"I mean, Asimov speaks of Eternity and Infinity like they are within the realm of human comprehension, as if they were places, or, or _events_, and I mean, _wow_, you know?"

He was absolutely _glowing_ by the time he stopped speaking. I knew I'd found my way in, then; the fastest way to an English major's heart was their favorite story. It was an odd sensation, but I was sorely tempted to scoop him up into a hug.

It made me do a double take, when I pictured it. _Hugging_ is not really something I fantasize about with cute guys. Weird.

I came back from my train of thought when I realized Zexion had calmed down some, and was quietly staring at me, that little quirk of his lips still in place. I found myself smiling in return, before I glanced down, realizing I _still_ hadn't taken a sip of coffee. Goddamnit.

"So, Zexion, what other stories do you like?"

-.-.

"… And that is why an Orwellian type dystopian future dominated by a Big Brother kind of deal is so wildly unlikely, ya might as well throw in some sparkly vampires to make the story a bit more interesting."

Zexion threw his hands up in frustration. We were sitting in the same places, empty coffee cups still on the table, though night had fallen outside. Once I'd gotten him to talk about literature, I found that my stony project partner was anything but; we argued heatedly for _hours_ about different books, authors, even some movie adaptations- and right then, I was convincing him that George Orwell was full of shit.

"Demyx, surely you _must_ know how absurd you sound! George Orwell predicted things in the 1950's that are _still happening today_! The things he spoke of have already begun to pass- it's entirely likely that in a few generation's time, their world will _be_ the world of _1985_!"

"Nah, bro. It won't happen. Americans will save the world, and you wanna know how?" He rolled his eyes, but motioned for me to continue. "Because, Americans are two things: they are fucking _stubborn as hell_, especially when it comes to the Second Amendment, and they are fucking _stupid as hell._ Even when something is for their own damn good, they won't do it; we'd rather sit on our bean bags, naked, eating Cheetos, with our buckshot rifle on one side and our stupid, giant machetes on the other."

For a moment, he didn't speak. Instead, he grinned, openly. I grinned back at him. And suddenly, we were laughing.

Yeah. _Laughing_. Shocking, innit?

When his giggling died down, he rested his cheek on his hand, still grinning.

"For someone who worked for the government, you have an astonishing lack of confidence in them, Demyx."

"Yeah?" I snorted, running a hand through my hair, "Well, it's _because_ I worked for them that I know they couldn't take over the world in that way. Most everybody in that bad boy is incompetent as all hell."

He shook his head, still disbelieving. "You have no faith in the government."

"And _you_ have no faith in the people."

We were quiet for a time after that, both of us staring off into space. He was _still _grinning. I got to thinkin' that we probably should have talked about the project at some point, but I couldn't find it in myself to regret the way the conversation had played out so far. Man, _fuck_ whatever the hell the project was s'posed to be about. I just got Zexion _laughing_. That wins like a freakin' F18 filled with tiger's blood and Adonis and whatever the hell else Charlie Sheen is.

"Can I ask you something, Demyx?"

I glanced back at him, cutting short my inspection of the ceiling, and all the pitch painted pipes I could see.

"Yeah, wassup?"

"Why did you join the military?" he looked uncomfortable again, like he was regretting having spoken up. Couldn't have that.

"Weeeeeell…" I started, gazing at him. I didn't go on until he looked at me, and I flashed him a reassuring smile. "I joined 'cause I was too dumb to get a scholarship to any college, and I didn't really have the money to just go… Plus," I kind of cut short, scratching the back of my neck. I was hesitant to really share with this kid just yet, but when I glanced up and saw his intent gaze, I decided on it, anyways. "My father was in the Army. I joined the military 'cause I figured, if I could be just _half_ the man he is, then I'll be successful at life, you know? And I figured I'd have a better shot of being awesome if I joined the more awesome branch, so I enlisted in the Corps."

He didn't say anything for about a minute. The shitty indie music they had playing in the background was really starting to irritate me, and I couldn't quite place why, until Zexion spoke again. I realized then that I was just being impatient, 'cause I kind of, sort of, maybe just a little bit, cared what he thought.

"Did it work?"

I looked up at him from under my eyebrows.

"Did what work?"

"Are you… Like your father?"

I heaved a sigh and leaned back, letting my head fall over the chair, staring up at the ceiling.

"I enlisted as a grunt. Thought I wanted to see the world, learn everything, all that." I paused, took a breath, and sat up, resting my arms on the table. "What I saw during my time over there…" Blah, can't do that. Don't wanna scare him off. Try again. "The things I learned… Well, yeah." I looked away, scratching the back of my head. "I saw some things, and I learned some things, that I wish I could unlearn, and unsee, you know? Something tells me that 'cause of the baggage I brought back from that place, I will never be the man my father is."

His eye was wide, and he was a little pale. I started to freak out, thinking he'd not wanna talk to me again- Mark Twain's, "I'd rather you think me a fool than open my mouth and remove all doubt" came to mind, but I shook it off since it made no fucking sense- and I said hurriedly, "But I'm fine. I came away pretty unscathed as far as those things go, so, uh… Yeah."

Zexion nodded like he was in a trance. After a second or two, he shook his head, saying abruptly, "I think I should be going. I have work to do, on my essay, and… Well, on my essay."

I stood up, grabbing the cups. "How 'bout I walk you to your dorm? Since you live on campus, and stuff?"

He shrugged his shoulders and picked up his bag, throwing it over his shoulder before walking out, and holding the door for me. Aw, shucks, and they say chivalry is dead.

I remembered as I stepped outside _why_ the coffee shop had felt so great, and cursed the state of Florida. Wrapping my arms around myself, I shivered, before manning the fuck up and talking to Zexion.

"So, what brings you to this… _Fine_ university?" I was getting pretty good at this censoring thing, if I do say so myself.

He grinned, probably unaware I'd almost dropped an F bomb.

"Well, I… I graduated highschool when I was fifteen. At first, my major _was_ Aerospace Engineering, and I had a full scholarship for that, but I found that wasn't my passion." I tried not to let him see my surprised expression. I felt suitably inadequate, having been passed in about seven years of education by a kid two years my junior. "I had a little trouble convincing the university to let me retain my scholarship when I requested to switch majors, and I almost discontinued school because of it. My father and I- we were never really… Very wealthy, since my mother died, and if it hadn't been for the scholarship, I would not have been able to afford any form of higher education."

Suddenly I thought back to the first time he'd spoken to me, and how I'd said something about mommy and daddy paying for college. _Wow. _Somewhere, I'm sure God had curb stomped a kitten when I'd said that. I felt fucking _horrible_.

"Oh… I'm sorry, dude. I didn't know-"

"It's fine," he brushed it off with a wave of his hand, "it happened when I was young. I know she loved me very much, and her influence never entirely left my life."

"Oh. Okie dokie, then."

We walked in silence, and while his seemed contemplative, I was busy thinking of any other times I had inadvertently insulted him.

"So… Why did you get mad at me that one time? That I uh, saw you in the lunchroom?"

He glanced up at me questioningly before it dawned on him, and he smirked before looking forward.

"Well, when I first came here, I would get stared at quite a bit. It bothered me substantially, and I suppose when I caught you doing it, it just brought it back."

"Ah," I said, stroking my chin thoughtfully. He tried to hide his grin. And was unsuccessful.

"Have you come to a conclusion on my mental health, Freud?"

"Yup. You have an evil genius slash teddy bear complex. I don't think there's a cure. You could always try treatment with me, though."

I don't know _where_ I found the balls to start flirting with him, but there it was. My insides were doing a little dance, and I was determined to not look at him, lest he see my wide grin. I heard him snort, though, and felt a bit of relief that he could take a joke. Maybe there was hope for this guy after all?

We arrived at a building that looked, for all intents and purposes, like a motel. As we walked up to a door on the ground floor, Zexion slowed, and shrugged. "This is it. Thank you for walking me home, Demyx."

I would say I grinned again, but honestly, I hadn't stopped grinning since we left the coffee shop. I was positively _giddy_.

"No probs, broskie."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Was that another language?"

"Oh, yeah, totes mcgoats. I'll teach it to ya sometime."

He grinned and shook his head, and it may have been my imagination, but did he just blush?

"Well, alright. Goodnight, Demyx."

"Night, Zex." I turned on my heel and left before I could do something crazy. Somewhere in my chest was that silly urge to hug him, but I had no desire to screw things up just yet, not so soon after I'd kind of, sort of, maybe patched them up.

Still, it unnerved me a bit thinking about just how much I wanted to kiss him.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Okay, the puppy off the cliff reference- some of you may have heard a few years ago about some fuckstick in the (world's finest) Marine Corps who threw a puppy off the cliff... _on camera_. And then _put it on the internet. _Yeah. A lot of us joke about shit like that, but really, that guy is a fucking retard. I do not support throwing cute animals off of cliffs.

Until next time, then! Review!

- ARA


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **So... Hi. It's been a while. And I'm usually all about not disrupting the flow of a chapter with an A/N at the beginning, but I wanted to apologize for being a total asshole about updates. Seriously. If you are a fan of this story, you have my deepest gratitude, and the open invitation to punch me right in the mouth if you see me.

* * *

><p>-.-.<p>

That Friday, I was Skyping my family.

Axel was still at school, so I had the apartment to myself, and as such, I was sitting on the couch in boxers and nothing else. Because it's my freakin' house, that's why.

"Demyx, what do you think about this Halloween costume for the baby? Isn't it _cute?_"

My sister was holding up… A thing. I'm not really sure what it was. It had a tail, though; a long tail. But it was pink.

"Uh… Yeeeeahh. That's about as cute as it gets, sis."

She narrowed her eyes at me and stormed off screen in a huff while my mom made the picture jump up and down from her laughter. "Do you have to be so different Dem? Everyone else just told her it was cute." I heard my sister's voice from somewhere in the background, but I didn't hear what she said. It might have sounded like something about my fashion sense being just like every other heterosexual man's; oh, if only you knew, sis.

I shrugged, and scratched at my shoulder. "Well, I am the only dark green in the family. I might as well go all out."

My mom shook her head, still grinning. "So, will you be here for Thanksgiving? I know Dad's looking forward to seeing you and it'd be nice to have some real food, wouldn't it?"

I shrugged again, and scratched my neck. Twelve hours there and back was a mighty long time to drive for a break I'd only enjoy three days of.

To this, my mom rolled her eyes and grumbled at me a bit- same old mom stuff, me being too skinny, she'd send some cookies, do I need any money?, and how Axel was doing- before I managed to convince her I had work to do. I got a chorus of goodbyes from my family before I closed my laptop, and I'll vigorously deny it if you tell anyone, but it gave me warm fuzzies.

After getting off the horn with my mom, I stood and stretched before stumbling my way into the bathroom. There were shorts on the floor from yesterday, which was just fine by me- I wouldn't have to go out into the cold depths of my closet for clothes after my shower- so I made sure to step over them as I turned on the water, and shed what little clothing I had on.

Ten minutes later, give or take, I was pretty damn near catatonic in my shower. I'd long since washed myself, and I was just wondering if I pruned up enough, would all my tattoos wash away? And then I thought that I probably needed to get them touched up anyway, so why not enjoy the water while it lasted? I nodded to myself, agreeing with the little voice in my head that stated fervently that hot, running water was the pinnacle of modern civilization.

All too soon, though, I remembered that I would have to pay for that water, and I decided against wasting food money on a longer shower.

I hopped out, dried off, and pulled the shorts on. See, they're not dirty as long as I'm not wearing the same underwear. Totally.

Running the towel over my head, I walked out the bathroom, through the refreshingly cool air of my room, and opened the door to the living room.

To my surprise, there on the couch sat Zexion, while Axel was walking through the backdoor with his hands full of groceries and what I sincerely hoped wasn't an actual box of six 32 ounce bottles of Captain Morgan. Right behind him, the same short blonde I'd seen in the chow hall with Zexion stumbled in, carrying smaller boxes marked Jose Cuervo (Urk. Hurrrrk. Blurrrrrk.), Smirnoff, and Skyy.

I didn't really know how to react to the abrupt influx of alcohol- and cute guys- in my apartment. I just stared as I waited for Axel to notice anything outside the realm of Blonde Haired, Blue Eyed, Cute Assed Kid.

"So they juggled, right? But you'll never guess what- no, _guess!_ Goslings. Little, fluffy, gray goslings. My hand to God, they juggled baby goslings!" That's about the point he turned around and saw me standing in my doorway. "Oh, hey Dem! Have you met Roxas? Rox, this is my roomie Demyx."

Blonde Haired, Blue Eyed, Cute Assed Kid turned a casual glance toward me as he began unpacking the contents of the grocery bags. Eh, at least Axel was right. The kid was pretty hot.

"Hi, Roxas."

"Hi, Demyx. Nice to meet you." He was quiet for a moment, furrowing his brow, before a lightbulb clicked on. "Oh, yeah! Guys, that's my roommate Zexion on the couch. Sorry I almost forgot, dude."

I glanced back over at him- he was staring at me, and I realized I _still _didn't have a shirt on, before we both answered, "We've met."

It was kind of creepy. Twilight Zone style.

After that happened, and Axel and Roxas glanced between me and my project partner like they suspected we were fucking, I decided a shirt was probably in my better interest and disappeared into my room to find one.

I came back out a little later without the towel, to find Axel sitting shamefacedly on one of the stools while his boytoy bustled around the kitchen. It appeared that the kid was cooking us dinner, and therefore, he instantly became welcome at any time in my apartment. Zexion was studying my bookcase, which reached from the floor to the ceiling and was filled with mostly sci-fi stuff, before he turned to me.

It could have been my imagination, but it sure _looked_ like there was a fleeting bit of relief in his features.

Whatever it was though, he quickly masked it with what I'd come to know as his usual expression; slight condescension and almost complete indifference. "I came with Roxas today because I noticed we didn't actually discuss any aspect of our project when we met to discuss our project, however…" he looked back up at my books, "this is quite the collection you have here. Have you read all these?"

I shrugged, grabbed my backpack full of school stuff and sat down.

"Yeah, but mostly when I was younger. I try not to buy books now 'cause they don't last. Anyway, the project!"

He glanced at me with that tiny little smile again before he sat down, pulling out a notebook from his messenger bag on the floor.

"Yes, let's."

-.-.

Tuesday came to me tapping gently on my window.

I cracked an eyelid, blinking blearily, trying to get a good look at the clock. My heart wasn't pounding. I wasn't in a cold sweat.

But I'd had the dream again.

Feeling as though I hadn't gotten any sleep at all, I sat up, trying to rub all the sleep from my eyes. The rain fell steadily outside, and though I usually loved days like this, I just couldn't bring myself to get out of bed.

I thought of Zexion- that shy, secret smile, the way he tried to hide behind his hair when I made him uncomfortable, the flavored window look- but even that didn't do much. My pulse was slow and sluggish in my veins, and there was nothing more in the world I wanted than to go right back to sleep.

Groaning, I fell back into my bed. Maybe I'd try again tomorrow.

Just not today.

-.-.

Thursday was a pretty inspirational day in that I beat Zexion to class.

Not like it was a big deal or anything- no awards were given, and I was still frustratingly celibate- but I had had some time between being let out early from my previous class and thought, well shit, wouldn't it be neat-o-rama to see the look on his face when his daily nerd hopes and dreams were crushed by big ol' devil yut me?

Unfortunately, instead of seeing his shock and awe at my being early to class, all I got was narrowed eyes and a quirked eyebrow.

"Where were you Tuesday?"

Well, he noticed my absence. That _must_ mean he wanted me.

"Er… Sick."

He narrowed his eyes again, but I kept a perfectly straight, innocent face. He scowled like that would wring the truth from me. I remained the epitome of virtue.

We both stayed that way until another few students began trickling into the classroom- but when it comes to the waiting game, I always win, of course.

With a little huff and a roll of his eyes (which looked a lovely shade of sexy, I might add), he glanced away. He cleared his throat as he began unpacking and organizing his nerd-things.

"I do not mean to pry," he said, avoiding my gaze. "I just wondered. Seeing as how the semester is nearing an end, and you weren't here, and how you value class-"

"Aw, shucks, Zexy-" his ear twitched at the name- "you were _worried_ about me?"

He still didn't look at me, only bent over his other side while rummaging through his pack. I waited a bit for a snarky answer- but to my honest surprise, I got none. Instead, I saw- holy mother of god, it's true- I saw a blush creeping up the back of his neck.

Ermahgerd.

"Zexy! You _were_ worried about me!" It might be unreasonable, but when he sat back up and glared obstinately at the whiteboard with a blush dusting his visible cheek, my stomach totally did cartwheels and handstands and flips 'n shit. I went to open my mouth- but he slid his glare sideways and I thought better of it. I figured he would either confirm my totally factual evidence right then and there, and we'd spend the rest of the class period making out- or he'd give me the flavored windows look I know and love. Can't go wrong with either option.

"Axel told Roxas you weren't feeling well," he mumbled, oblivious to the sudden drop in my stomach floor his words elicited, "so I just wanted to… To make sure you weren't contagious. Or anything."

When Axel had come knocking on my door on Tuesday asking if I'd needed a ride, and I hadn't answered, he knew something was up. He barged in and saw me staring out the window, and didn't say anything- just stood there a while before dropping his bag and crawling into my bed. He stayed home all that day and made me soup and didn't ask questions. Sometimes, that's exactly what a guy needs.

I realized I was staring at my hands in my lap when Zexion asked, "Demyx?"

"Yeah. I was feeling sick. S'all."

I saw his brow furrow out the corner of my eye, but the professor walked in, and that was the end of that.

-.-.

After the prof dismissed us, I was feeling a whole lot better- today we'd had a long and heated class discussion about the topic of abortion, and I'd made sure to let the smug silver haired bastard who sat in the back row of the class know that I would assist his mother in her post-natal abortion even if her son was twenty years out of the womb.

As students filtered out of the classroom, I sat back with my feet on the desk. Zexion held his face in his hands- there was that blush again, burning up his ears, making them look all kissable and junk- but neither of us made a move when we were the only ones left.

"I can't believe you said that." His voice was muffled in the palms of his hands.

"Yup."

"Abortion is no laughing matter."

"Unless you're aborting a clown."

And he snorted- I shit you not, _snorted_- a laugh. Seriously, I could spend the next five days cuddling up to this guy and I still don't think it'd be enough. No homo.

He sat up then, smirking at me as he began packing his things.

"You are just… Outlandish."

"The fact that you just used the word outlandish makes you outlandish. Me, I'm just honest."

He rolled his eye at me. "Honest? Is that what you think?"

I shrugged, grinning and leaning towards him a little. It was kind of tough, considering my feet were still propped up on the desk.

"For you, darlin'? I'm as honest as it gets."

The scowl he tried to put on was spoiled by the slight upward curve of his lips, and it made me grin all the more. Messing with Zexion had taken on a new, delightful meaning ever since he decided he didn't hate me.

"I dare not ask what you think of _me_, then, if I'll get the same kind of honesty that Riku received- I don't know how I'll be able to cope if you say I am nothing more than a post-natal abortion."

I dropped my feet from the desk, sitting up. Lord knew, if Zexion heard _all _the things I thought about him in a given day…

Lucky for me, though, telepathy was not in evidence in this brainy little crush of mine. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, though, and that gave me an idea.

I know, I know- please, hold your applause.

Anyway, he was still blushing. And he didn't seem to mind our proximity, seeing as we were practically nudging elbows. And maybe I'd gotten rusty since being back stateside, but… If I was any good at reading body language like I'd once been, I could _swear_ I was getting a green light for some moves right now.

I hoped it wasn't my imagination.

Zexion was looking down into his pack, rearranging pens or something, when I put one hand on the back of his chair and one on the table, leaning forward allllll the way into his personal space.

He froze mid pen-arrangement, and I tried to keep my voice low and smooth.

"Do you _really_ wanna know what I think of you, Zexion?" I made sure to use his full name, so maybe he wouldn't punch me in the face, but to my surprise, he brought his gaze to mine without so much as a hint of fear or anger.

"I…" he looked in a daze. His eyes were glazed, pupils blown, and he kept glancing from my eyes to my lips. Holy moly.

I thought _I_ had some repressed sexual cravings.

He stayed like that for a moment, and I felt his breath fan my lips, and I thought, jeez, maybe this wasn't a good idea- if he keep staring at me like this, I might have to kidnap his cute little ass. But then, what seemed like as soon as his dazed stare started, it stopped- he suddenly snapped out of it, stumbling out of his chair with a hurried and muttered, "Goodbye," before making his way out the classroom. To quote a great man, he'd left faster than a set of rims at a Puff Daddy concert.

Me, I just sat there for a minute, in a daze myself. I really didn't wanna think it was my imagination- but I could've sworn Zexion was on the verge of kissing me.

Maybe I wasn't the only one wanting this?

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** I know I'm super slow with updates. It doesn't mean I'm not writing, just that I don't have the time to really look over and edit my stuff. Again, I apologize. This story is kind of tough to write just 'cause of the fact it hits so close to home- it doesn't help that as a general rule, I work 60+ hours a week. HOWEVER, reviews are really appreciated and totally help the creative process, so if you contribute, I will totally give you the pound cake from my MRE. Seriously.

**-ARA**


	5. Chapter 5

Before I joined the Corps, I didn't have many nightmares.

Before my last deployment as an infantryman, my nightmares went like this:

I'm in a room, and it's hot. Sunlight streaming through a hole in the roof, and to my left, a set of double doors. Through the windows, I can see the desert stretching on for mile after parched mile. The sky is scorched blue.

I'm in all of my war gear- flak jacket with bulletproof plates in, Kevlar helmet, digital desert cammies, clear ballistic glasses- but I don't have my weapon.

And I hear them coming.

I never could get a grasp on their language, beyond "Stop", "Get out of the car", "Hands up", and "May God be with you"- it all sounded the same to me; usually harsh, sometimes vaguely musical. But I could always tell when they were mad.

There's a crowd of them, and it turns out the room I'm in isn't really a room, but a U-shaped hallway. And their shadows dance on the wall.

I fall backwards, scrambling to get away, only to find another set of double doors behind me, and as I land, they close in front of me. The noise lowers by half.

But the relief I feel is momentary. I look to my right, and see my entire world, my family, standing calmly as the enemy is getting closer. My sister holds her baby, my brother has his hands in his pockets, and my parents gaze at me with more adoration than I'll ever deserve.

I know then, that there's nothing I can do to save them.

The sounds are louder now, shouting and the scraping of sandled feet against sand strewn concrete.

My head turns as though the air has solidified around me, my perception the consistency of honey. From my family, to the doors in front of me, and then to my left, where a long, sunbaked hallway stretches out before me. Broken windows filter sunlight through the dusty air, and I can only think that there's no use in telling my family to run, because _they'll only die tired-_

When Zexion shook my shoulder, I was pretty sure my heart was gonna jump out my mouth and make a run for it.

He- that is, Zexion, not my heart- was gazing at me with narrowed eyes and a quirked eyebrow. I'd come to know this look, the look in between Flavored Windows and Please, Go Die In A Fire, as What New And Exciting Drug Are You On? But that didn't last long once he'd gotten my attention, and his features relaxed to their usual state. I liked to think that was his, I'm Crazy About Demyx face.

"Did you hear the classwork he just assigned us?"

Uh, no?

"Yup." Even if I hadn't, I bet I'd learn about it soon enough.

With a roll of his eyes, Zexion leaned back in his chair, huffed a sigh. "So even in your catatonic state, you were paying attention to the class?" I smirked, leaning back and kicking my feet up.

"Maybe you didn't notice, but I'm a superhero. I was just in my Fortress of Solitude."

And there was that _look_ again, the slightest quirk at the corner of his mouth- but I was so all about that expression that it probably wasn't healthy. There was literally no end to the lengths I would go to tease that smile from him.

"So you say, Superman," his laugh was a quick exhale, quiet and reserved and just for me. "I'll fill you in."

-.-.

At the end of the hour, after all the students and the professor had filed out for their next class, Zexion and I sat discussing the finishing touches for our project. The semester was, thankfully, coming to a close, and with only a few weeks left, it occurred to me that I still needed to convince my sometimes grumpy, alarmingly gorgeous project partner to fall in love with me. Unfortunately, I was still stuck on how.

Fortunately, he wasn't. I was never one for the bigger picture stuff, anyway.

As he was packing up his stuff, and I was watching him pack up stuff (because at this point in the game, I knew better than to bring note taking gear to a class I took no notes in), his ears began to glow. Now, I found this peculiar only because I hadn't gone out of my way to fluster him in a while- and even then, I generally had to open my mouth to do so. Guess I was just getting that good.

"I have a proposition for you, Demyx."

Or not. "Yeah? Wuzzat?"

"Oh, you don't know what a proposition is? It is a suggested course of action-"

"Oh, shuddup. What's your proposition, Mister Thesaurus?"

I could tell he was grinning from his sidelong glance, the way his eye crinkled in the corner with amusement, but his inflection was the same as ever. He turned back to his bag on the side of his chair opposite me before speaking again.

"Perhaps we should…" he hesitated, then cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should, you know. Go steady. If you like."

My eyebrows did this magic trick where they disappear into my hairline and I'm pretty sure they took my voicebox with them. Had I heard that right? I mean, yeah, going steady was probably something they did back in the 80's, but if we took that phrase, adjusted for inflation, and applied it to real life, I could _swear_ he just asked me to start dating. Like, together. And not just in my imagination.

I realized too late that I was probably gaping like a turkey on a rainy day, because after the silence stretched out for a few awkward moments, Zexion hurriedly got up without looking back at me. It slowly occurred to me that he was babbling over his shoulder- another sign of his discomfort, _babbling_, because this boy was more frugal with words than Honey Boo Boo is with diet and exercise- and he had almost made it to the door before I heard my voice say, "Wait."

He paused in the doorway, glancing back at me while his hands played with the straps of his man-purse.

I was clumsy, swinging my feet over the desk and barely catching myself as I hopped forward, but I made it to Zexion without faceplanting on the stained rug floor. "Do you really mean that? You wanna be with me?"

He frowned at me, single visible eyebrow drawing down as his nose scrunched up and his glance blanched away from me. "Nevermind I said anything, it was only a suggestion. To better facilitate work studies. In case you needed help from time to time, or someth-"

He didn't stop talking when I tilted his chin towards me, only decreased in speed and volume, until he was mumbling jibberish. Speakin' my language, and whatnot.

I couldn't hide my grin any longer, and with a chaste kiss and a wink, the latter of which I'm pretty sure was lost on my poor, dazed, (Brand New!) boyfriend, I murmured, "Ya know what? You're crazy."

I know, I know. I'm a sucker for romance.

-.-.

Axel and I were sitting inside that rainy Saturday morning. He was playing Assassin's Creed; I was trying to drown my sleepiness in a bowl of Cocoa Puffs so big it could probably have fed a family for days.

The light from outside was weak; it filtered in through the blinds, pooling on the floor in dim outlines. This helped me, I think; there's nothing so unholy as being awake at seven on a Saturday, but Axel promised me Waffle House once he beat the level he was playing. The Cocoa Puffs were there to tide me over.

We weren't talking much, just the occasional grunt from him in response to dying or whatever. I was content to keep it that way, with as little communication as possible. I hadn't slept well the night before.

"Hey."

I glanced up at him wordlessly. The game was on a loading screen, and he was peeking at me from over the shoulder of his gaming chair. When I didn't say anything, he returned his gaze to his game, and I shoved another spoonful of delicious chocolate omnom. I considered next time just using Nutella instead of milk.

"So…" he started again, trailing off. The rain outside picked up in the silence, and Axel died again. He growled as he restarted the mission. "Question."

I sighed through my nose, swallowing the mouthful of corn starch. "Shoot."

"Are you gonna tell him?"

It was almost like he held his breath, waiting for my response. I narrowed my eyes at the back of his head, but he didn't turn around. A few moments passed this way, before I turned my glare down to the cereal in my lap. "Yeah, I will. I just…" I cleared my throat. The roof of my mouth was sore- from the cereal, I think. "It's kind of early in the relationship. For all that."

He shrugged, humming as he finally beat the mission. I heard birdsong through the patter of rain outside. "Just makin' sure, man. Don't want him, yanno-"

"Yeah, dude. I know."

He turned around at my tone, but I was already up and walking away.

-.-.

I spent every day with Zexion, studying, hanging out with Axel and Roxas, or just watching TV together ("You watch The Office? _And_ understand the jokes? Zexion, why didn't you _tell _me you have a sense of humor?"). Everything was good; better than good, actually. It was _fucking wonderful_.

It became easier for me to tease that shy smile from him.

I firmly believe that was my crowning achievement; he still didn't do it when other people were around, but when it was just me, I'd catch him more often than not with that familiar quirk to his lips.

I wondered if he felt as giddy as I did all the time.

It certainly seemed that way.

-.-.

I was leaving the chow hall a few weeks after Zexion and I started dating on an unseasonably warm evening in December, over the break. Having eaten dinner with some friends who lived on campus, I felt it was high time to be getting back to my apartment, and my bike was on the other side of the school.

But as I was walking towards the glass doors, hoisting my longboard over my shoulder, I saw that it was raining.

Or, more accurately, _pouring_.

I slowed to a stop, gazing outside. I had no worries about my books, 'cause my bag was waterproof. I could always fix my board later.

And longboarding in the rain is just fucking _awesome_.

I glanced around real quick, and pulled off my shirt. After stuffing it in my bag, I rolled up the pant legs on my jeans, 'cause _fuck_ wet pants, and slung my bag over my shoulder. Grabbed my longboard.

Stepped outside.

_Glorious_.

I don't even remember riding to the top of the hill; one second I was in front of the doors, soaking in the charged atmosphere, face tilted back and eyes closed- the next, I was at the top, clothes soaked through, rain tracing icy trails down my back.

I couldn't stop grinning. There was _nobody_ out. I was alone in the dark, pouring rain; the world was _mine_.

With a kick I skated over the water and down the hill, gaining speed- and then I was kneeling, one knee on the board, one foot, leaning to and fro to steer, and my arms were out, and suddenly I was-

The F18, screaming off the deck of the Nimitz class carrier I was stationed on before my first tour to the 'Stan, fully loaded and ready to deliver bad guys straight to their seventy-two virgins. I was fast, tearing off the rolling deck of the ship, and then I was gone, out of sight, beyond sound-

I opened my eyes only because I had to stand, kick, and steer around a corner. I was still going fast, but you can't be a fighter jet and go anything _less_ than Mach Jesus . Just doesn't work that way.

As I leaned down and grabbed my board for a hard left, I saw movement- light, shining in the dark, a form in a window, and then I was gone, the rain stinging my eyes and my bare neck when I ducked my head.

With another kick, I propelled myself into a kneel, and spread my arms again, making sure I was on the straightaway before I closed my eyes, this time becoming-

The AV-8B that overflew me on my third combat tour, while we were pinned under heavy small arms fire. I saw myself, little blonde human, all of us the size of so many ants, on my first flyover. I was too far away to see the terrified expression on my face as I ran out of ammo, but I didn't need to. With my powerful engines, I screamed a 180, dove, and dropped five hundred pounds of hellfire on the building that contained so many hajjis ready to meet their God. Success met with satisfaction. Mors ab alto.

I opened my eyes again when I slowed enough to not feel the stinging rain, and found myself near the library, and the coffee shop. It was at that moment I finally felt the cold. And I mean really _felt_ it; it'd been a pretty warm day for December, but the rain was making it feel spot on, temperature wise.

I was close enough to the coffee shop that it was a viable option to get out of the weather, if only momentarily, but I figured I had time for just one more fantasy. I slowed down a bit, made another hard left, steered myself towards the brightly lit shop, and swept out my wings-

I was the C-130, the lumbering transport plane that brought me back home from the desert, to the arms of my crying mother, family, girlfriend- ten thousand feet, high enough to be far outside of any SAM's range, low enough to keep the exhausted infantrymen in my cargo hold from suffocating for lack of oxygen. My wings weren't swept back, but perpendicular to my body, holding thirty thousand pounds of fuel alone, and inside my steel belly, the grunts slept fitfully, completely safe for the first time in months.

But there _was_ no "safe", not for me, not anymore. Once you've seen war, up close, in front of you- you know there's no such thing as safe.

* * *

><p>I was shivering by the time I got into the comparatively well-lit shop, and the air conditioning certainly didn't help. I was covered in goose bumps, which I'm sure the cashier who stood behind the counter saw as he eyed me up and down.<p>

Of course, I _had_ just walked in there dripping and shirtless… Maybe he was looking at me so critically 'cause of the puddle I was quickly forming. Oh, well.

With an apologetic grin, I dropped my bag, pulled out my shirt and started toweling off- and I did all that _while_ ordering a nice, hot latte. Who says grunts are dumb?

While I waited for my drink, I tried to dry my pants- lost cause- but I didn't bother to put the shirt on. Considering how wet it was, and how there really wasn't anyone in the shop at this hour anyway, I went ahead and said fuck it. If the kid behind the counter didn't like it, he'd say so.

… Yeah. You know he liked it.

Anyway, I took my drink when he handed it over, going over to the counter to fill it with sugar and vanilla and whatever the hell else they had for free out there, when the little bell over the door rang.

I glanced up, poised to pour sugar into my coffee, but found myself motionless when I met Zexion's gaze.

He was still, looking dazedly around the shop. The kid behind the counter looked ready to speak, but glancing between the two of us, decided it was better to do no such thing.

"Zexion?"

He looked at me then, eyes darting down my body before sweeping back up to meet my eyes. I was suddenly _very_ aware of my state of undress, as if his gaze had been a feather light touch- and it made me suddenly reluctant to move. Zexion, rainwater running off the hooded jacket he wore, took a step towards me, and another, and another- and then he was next to me, _close_, and I couldn't help thinking that maybe I'd passed out back in the rain, and this was some kind of dream.

But, blinking slowly, then a little faster, the slate haired kid seemed to snap out of it, quirking an eyebrow at me. The familiar expression allowed my heart to finally cease its sprinting.

"Demyx, why are you almost naked?"

I grinned, released from the spell that was this kid's eyes, and returned to pouring my sugar.

"'Cause that's the best way to be in the rain. Why're you out in this shitty weather?"

He rolled his eyes at my language, but crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm no longer allowed to venture out of my dorm for coffee?"

"Well, sure ya are! But I figured it'd be in your best interest if you didn't go out in the rain, since you might melt, and all." He grinned, and turned around, heading for my still-dripping longboard on the wall.

"That was a very poor and desperate attempt at an insult, Demyx. I do believe you're slipping."

I scoffed, shoving my shirt back down in my bag (_fuck_ my books, man, being shirtless around Zexion was totally worth it), before hooking it onto my shoulder, and stepping close behind him. "I guess," I said lowly in his ear, "it's 'cause you caught me off guard. Give me a minute, I'll get ya."

It might have been my imagination, but it sure did _look_ like he shivered when I breathed on his neck. But then he was pushing open the door, and holding it for me as I grabbed my longboard and stepped through.

We walked into the still pouring rain, and I was gripped by the need to fly again.

Seriously, try it; hell, it doesn't even have to be _raining_. Longboarding at night is the _best_.

But it was either walking with Zexion, or flying with my memories.

And I'd take the present over the past any day.

We walked a measured pace, not fast enough for me to longboard with, but not slow enough to feel like I was dragging my feet. My bag was warm against my back, the rain cool on my skin, and Zexion quiet beside me- for a time anyway. He looked at me from beneath his hood when we were about even with the auditorium building.

"So why are you out here shirtless, again?"

I raised an eyebrow at him. "Didn't I answer this question already?"

"No, you didn't." He shook his head, "I mean, I need a _real_ answer. I'm genuinely curious."

My walking slowed to a stop, and he continued on for a moment before he realized. I watched him turn, eyeing me with an inquisitive expression, and I furrowed my brow in thought.

I mean, how do you _describe_ the rain to someone?

What it feels like? How do you tell someone who's never gone _months_ without rain what it's like to feel the falling sky on your skin? That it's like embracing a long lost friend? I heaved a sigh, tilting my head back to kiss the cold air.

"Well…"

I racked my brain for an answer, still coming up blank. The rain splashed up puddles on the sidewalk. Cold fingers, trailing down my neck. Hands numb, clutching my board.

"Do you longboard?" I asked without moving, breathing out my mouth. I was getting colder by the second, and it was almost becoming uncomfortable.

I heard him shift before he answered, "No. But I skate boarded a little when I was in highschool."

Grinning, I brought my gaze back to him. Nerdy little Zexion, not someone I would have pegged as a skater, but hey. Who'm I to judge? He looked distinctly uncomfortable, studying the grass to the left of my feet, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.

"Well, it's kind of like… How going fast on a skateboard is like flying, you know?" His questioning glance told me he didn't. "It's like, moving fast like that, the wind and all, like…" I was gesturing with my free hand now, "if you close your eyes, you can almost pretend you're above it all. It's _freedom_, you know? And, well, if the wind and the speed are freedom, then the rain is like… Like, forgiveness, kinda- redemption. Everything, all the bad feelings, all the bad _memories_, all of that, you can just go out and play in the rain, and it all becomes so much water under the bridge."

He was staring at me again, that same dazed look he had when he walked in the coffee shop earlier, and it _did_ something to me. I'll go ahead and blame it on the celibacy- but the way he looked at me made my whole body hot.

And while I was thinking on this, lamenting the loss of my sexual prowess to the realms of teenaged boy sensitivity, Zexion walked back to me. Stood right in front of me. Glanced at my board, glanced at me- started unzipping his jacket, and _sweet baby Jesus in a tuxedo_.

He wore no shirt beneath the black hoodie. I hadn't noticed up until that point, as he hadn't moved to take the hoodie off, and honestly, _fuck_. I also hadn't noticed he was wearing shorts- who the hell gave him shorts, anyways? He always wore dress clothes to class- but when he took the jacket off, my eyes were drawn to the last bit of clothing on his body- and Chesty tittifucking Puller, they were hanging _low_ on his hips.

It rocked me, from my skull to the heels of my feet, and back up- pooling heat in my groin. I think I might have been drooling.

"Demyx?"

Yep.

"May I?"

"Huh?" As you can tell, I was doing really well for myself in the talking arena.

He gestured to my board, while holding out his jacket. My brain, working slower than usual due to the heavy traffic, took a second or two to process his request before I handed over my longboard, and took his jacket. But it was _totally_ worth it once I did.

He took my board and, with what looked like practiced ease, threw it and hopped on, kicking off towards the little pavilion in front of some of the student dorms.

I can't even pretend like a "no homo" would save me, at that point. The way his muscles moved under his skin, lithe form dancing with shadows and glinting with rain and light, was captivating. I felt like maybe I ought to let him borrow my board far more often, but only on the condition that he ride it shirtless. Maybe then I'd be able to look at him half naked and not immediately get hard.

Like I said, it felt like I was a fourteen year old boy again.

He got to the circle and hopped off- he could have made a 180 if he'd banked hard enough, maybe knelt down and put his body into it- but he instead turned the setup around, skating back to me and sending sprays of water in his wake.

Figuring it was about time for me to wipe the drool off my chin, I composed myself, standing up a little straighter, hoping it wasn't obvious that I was turned on. It was pretty dark; maybe he wouldn't notice?

When he got back to me, he hopped off the board again, catching it by the tail before it rolled away. He was breathing a little hard, but there was a little smile playing around his lips as he stood up that had me answering with a smile of my own.

"See what I mean?"

He laughed then, a genuine, if somewhat breathy sound. "Yes. I suppose I do, then."

I shivered. His voice was starting to get to me, too. "Want your jacket back?"

He shook his head. "I'll hold your longboard if you hold my jacket."

I shrugged, and he started walking, leaving me to look after him for a moment before breaking into a quick jog to catch up.

We didn't talk as we neared his dorm. He had this serene smile on his lips, just taking it all in, I guess, and I was preoccupied thinking about how different he was from what I had initially thought. Frosty? Cold? It was laughable.

It was almost as if he intentionally kept it hidden, that passionate, fiery side of him; he went through life, his day to day motions, quiet, observing, yet- when he was out here, with me and no one else, he smiled, laughed, saw as I saw- felt as I felt.

He stood in front of a door, which I assumed to be his since I'd never actually been in his room before, and leaned my board on the wall beside it before leaning against the same surface. I held out his jacket, which he eyed briefly before taking. He didn't put it on.

I'll admit it, I didn't want to leave.

The rain was still coming down, Zexion was still half naked- God, did the kid not have any skivvies on?- and I, despite the cold, was still horny. I had ascertained during the walk that it wasn't _terribly_ noticeable, but it definitely remained at the forefront of my mind. Leaning opposite of the gray haired kid, I shoved my hands in my pockets, and stood in silence.

Neither of us said anything for a few minutes, just looked out through the rain and into the darkness.

After a time, I closed my eyes, and just listened. My heart beat, his breathing, the rain- it was like what I imagine heaven must be. And for a moment, and a moment more, everything was still.

Then I felt his hand on my cheek, soft, almost feather light, but it set my whole body ablaze. I had lost my goosebumps somewhere along the walk back, but they sprang to life beneath Zexion's fingers, and all down the right side of my body. I prayed he wouldn't notice the effect he had on me, but I didn't count on it.

A second later, I felt his hand on my hip- directly over one of my tattoos- and he spoke softly.

"What is this?"

I finally opened my eyes to find him gazing at my tattoo, a handprint, and covering it with his own. Two burning beacons on my flesh.

"It's my father's handprint." He glanced up at me and back down, before lightly tracing with all five of his fingers the mark. "I figured if I have a constant reminder of him, then maybe someday I'll be half the man he is." To that, he nodded, slowed his tracing. Moved to the tattoo above the handprint.

"And this?"

"It's a version of John 15:13," I murmured, capturing one of his fingers, and placing it at the beginning of the tattoo, just above my ribs, "A greater love hath no man than this, that he lay down his life for his brothers." He splayed his hand out above the tattoo, covering most of it.

I wondered, distantly, if he could feel my heart racing. Certainly, he could hear my uneven breathing, but then, he was entranced with all my tattoos. I couldn't tell if he noticed. Maybe it was better if he didn't; had he known the effect he was having on me, just these soft touches and innocent caresses, he might have… Well, shit, I dunno. Maybe he would have acted on it.

Instead, he continued tracing my tattoos, and I went from leaning on the wall opposite him to leaning on the wall behind him, propping myself up with one hand while I let him touch my naked flesh. He traced the swooping letters of my "Life" tattoo, and I could almost feel him count my ribs as he did. He paused then, and I noticed that at some point during his scrutiny, I had let my eyes slip closed.

"What does this mean?"

The smoldering trails his fingertips left on my skin led to his hand, resting on my left bicep tattoo. I answered without opening my eyes.

"It's Latin for 'That others may live'."

He hummed, tracing the lines, shading, the shapes and colors- his fingers danced over my skin, even dared to skim the top of my pants. At this point, I'd given up caring if he knew how turned on I was; I never wanted this sweet, sweet torture to end. He dragged his fingers up my other side, over "Liberty", coming to rest on my inner bicep tattoo, "Honor Over All".

I guess that last one was self explanatory, 'cause he didn't ask about it.

Somewhere along his exploration of my body, he had taken his hand from my face, but now he returned it, even added the other hand as if to make up for it.

With my eyes closed, I couldn't see- but the touches felt magnified, hot against my skin, and I knew he was close to me; I felt the heat of his bare chest, tasted his breath as it mingled with mine, and I wanted nothing more than to touch him, taste his skin, be inside of him. He took a shaky breath, and I reveled in the fact that I wasn't alone in feeling like my fucking _world_ was tilting on its' axis.

"Is… Is that it? All your tattoos?"

I opened my eyes to gaze at him, take in his features for future recall- half lidded eyes, pouty lips, button nose, smooth skin- and leaned in further, until our noses crossed, our lips just brushing. I drank in his gasp, and the uneven breaths that followed, with a grin, before I slowly pulled myself away and down, tracing my hands across his chest, kneeling as I reached the flat expanse of his stomach.

His hands, having nowhere else to go, rested on my shoulders, and as I brought my gaze up, he cupped the back of my head. His eyes were almost closed, lower lip caught between his teeth, blushing furiously- I took a mental picture, before resting my forehead against his stomach, intentionally blowing a stream of cool air below his belly button. I reveled in the shudder that flowed from his body to mine.

Eventually, I rested my face against his hip, hugging him around the waist.

"Can you see it?"

"Huh…?"

It appeared that I wasn't the only one with less blood in one head than the other.

"My last tattoo. Can you see it?"

He moved against me, and suddenly his finger was back, between my shoulderblades, featherlight, tracing the wings of the eagle on my back, following the outline of the body until it reached the globe, tracing around the edge of the world and breaking off at the anchor, back, out, and around until he reached the other side of the globe. He traced this a few times, saying nothing, raising goosebumps down my spine.

I enjoyed the touches, and the feeling of his body, for longer than I care to reflect on. It may have been five minutes, or fifty; but by the time I decided it was time to go, we had mostly dried off.

"Zex?"

"Yes?"

"I should probably get going, huh?"

He sighed.

"I suppose..."

Neither of us made a move. He continued tracing my tattoo, and I stayed kneeling on the ground, cuddled into his stomach. My arousal still throbbed painfully, but I managed, through great effort, to ignore it. I could feel something in Zexion's shorts, but I was reluctant to investigate; we had been dating a grand total of two weeks. I certainly didn't want to scare him off, yet it seemed to me that he wanted this as much as I did. In spite of this, I was nervous. All the false confidence and bravado I'd developed over the years, _man_, it just fell away in the face of this slate haired kid, with his blue, blue eyes and that irresistible bottom lip that he had caught between his teeth. Just being this close made it hard for me to think.

Somewhere, my twenty-one year old ideals were rolling in their graves.

I stood, leaving my hands on Zexion's hips. He had to tilt his head back to meet my eye, which suited me just fine, but meet my eye he did, and he did so with a little smile.

"You know… You are just, just _odd_."

I grinned.

"Don't you mean 'fucking infuriating'?"

This made him laugh- I felt it against me, felt his body move and the breath leave his lips, and he said, "Why, yes, Demyx. I do believe you are fucking infuriating, as well."

Both my eyebrows raised in surprise. "Thought you didn't curse," I murmured, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.

He rolled his eyes, grabbed me behind the neck, muttered, "Goddamnit, Demyx," and kissed me senseless.

-.-.

His legs were wrapped around my waist, and despite my level of intoxication- 'cause that's _exactly_ the effect he has on me- I managed to kick the door closed behind me. I didn't even get my half formed question of, "Which bed-?" out before he answered, "Right," and then I was on top of him and he was scratching my back, pulling me closer.

All I wanted was him.

Around me, on top of me, on my skin, my lips- all I could think was _Zexion_, and I only realized I was whispering his name when he smirked against my skin. I scowled, but it was kinda dark- he probably wouldn't be able to see, but that was okay; I figured he'd be saying _my_ name, soon enough.

Turns out, I was right.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **Well, hi again. Been a month or so, sorry for the wait; work, and all. I've spent a good portion of the last few months living in a bush, but it would appear that I'm done with that for now. Can't say I'll dramatically increase the speed at which I update this, but on the bright side, I think it's almost done. Thanks for hanging in there with me, guys. Review please, and I won't force you to live in a bush with me.

**-ARA**


	6. Chapter 6

Hi again. Short chapter, here, but this is where it all comes out. It may come across as a little graphic, with some strong language and hateful things, but if you've ever been in a situation like that, then you know the first reaction is blinding fury or paralyzing fear. Anyway, enjoy. This is the second to last chapter.  
><strong>-ARA<strong>

* * *

><p>January happened.<p>

The break let up, and classes started up again- this time I found myself in a public speaking class with Axel- who swore he'd work in a speech about the zombie apocalypse, so help him God- and a flight block that put me on the flight line at roughly the same time as Roxas. It was pretty cool.

The best part about getting back into a regular routine, though, was Zexion.

Every day after class, he came home with me; we didn't even have to do the no pants hokey pokey. He would help me study, and I would kiss him, and he would watch me play video games, and I'd kiss him and hug him, and he would blush if I gave him the ol' doe eyes, and I'd kiss him and hug him and swear I'd tie him up and make him live in my closet if he kept being so dang cute.

Even so, I never really got around to telling him.

Some days, I'd wake up and find it physically impossible to drag myself out of bed. My nightmares, over the course of a few weeks, became steadily worse. I felt guilty- he needed to know, _deserved_ to know- but what if he couldn't accept it?

I would catch him staring at me sometimes, when I was playing video games or talking with Axel, or whatever; caught him on the verge of saying something, only to have him close his mouth with a wry smile and a shake of his head. It made me just want to scoop him up and never let go.

He smiled so much for me.

But as they are wont to do, the good times came to an abrupt end.

* * *

><p>I'd been feeling a little sick when we woke up that warm February morning, but Axel told me to stop being a girl, so I resolved to shoot him in the balls at some point during the day.<p>

The paintball arena was less of an arena and more of a field bordered on one side by a forest, and the other, by a parking lot. There were inflatable blocks and plywood walls scattered around it. A little further into the woods I spotted what looked like a pretty decent mout-town. Decided to stay away from that- it's too easy to be put in a bad situation when your reality starts looking like your nightmares.

Our first match was a four on four, with me, Axel, Roxas and- small world- Roxas's brother, the kid from the campus starbuck's, also known as Sora. Zexion declined to indulge in the glory that is paintball, instead seating himself on the benches outside the thin, rope netting surrounding the field. I couldn't help but be all about the shorts and short sleeve button down he wore that day- 'cause, seriously, _shorts_. Not even short shorts, but ya know- I'll take what I can get.

He caught me staring and raised an eyebrow, but I just grinned at him.

"HAYYY SEXXYYYY-"

Axel yanked me back by my black "Pain is weakness leaving the body" t-shirt and started dragging me to the starting point. Zexion shook his head but I could see the grin from where I was. That meant it was time for me to serenade him.

"WHEEENNNNN IIIII-"

"Demyx-"

"WATCH YOU, WANNA DO YOU-"

"You're a freakin' homo-"

"RIGHT WHERE YOU'RE STANDING, YEAH-"

Roxas watched me belting out some Say Anything, crossing his arms over his chest. "See, Axel, Demyx sings to _his_ boyfriend."

Axel rolled his eyes, dropping my shirt as he sidled up to the blonde. "It wouldn't be fair for me to sing your favorite song by your favorite band. You wouldn't be capable of resisting me, and we're in public."

Sora chuckled at this, while Roxas rolled his eyes and pulled on his helmet.

It took a few minutes for the match to start up, in which I found I was already sweating- probably from being sick- and we all stood around making Darth Vadar noises at eachother in our masks. Surprisingly, Sora had the best voice.

The whistle blowing was our signal to do the damn thing, and off we took for cover. Prior to the match starting, we'd worked out a simple plan of fire and maneuver- Roxas and his brother were "Alpha" and me and Axel were "Bravo"- so when bravo moved, alpha covered, and vice versa. Basic, boot stuff.

As we moved up, though, I started feeling sick again. I was breathing heavy, sweating a lot- but I could see Zexion by now, and he'd marked his place in his book to watch the game, so I couldn't punk out.

"Alpha, set!"

I didn't answer when I took off- heard Axel yelling something behind me, but I figured he'd be alright. I felt dizzy.

Orange paint exploded on my shoe, and I nearly puked.

My heart is racing, and the wind is blowing from downrange, kicking up dust and sand as I race to cover.

I slide a little before slamming my back against the berm, laughing breathlessly. Running through a hail of bullets always gives me that heady rush, you know? Next to me, Chris is popping off shots every few seconds, hunched over the buttstock of his rifle so as to create a low profile. He has a _schemagh_ on, and it wraps around his face up to his ears, but I still see his eyes squint from his laughter.

"Dude, you almost ate shit out there" he's grinning, and he coughs, doing his best Sweet Brown impression. "I got bronch-_itis_! Ain't nobody got _time_ for that!"

I can't contain my hysterical laugh as I pull a fresh mag out of my pouch, dropping my empty in my cargo pocket. "You know what? You are really dumb. Fah real." I bang the mag on my kneepad- to get the sand out, because sand gets on carbon like white on rice- and shove it in the mag well, tugging once it's seated and sending the bolt home. Taking a knee, I get ready to take over his sector of fire.

He stands up a little taller, squinting downrange and laughing. "Yeah, whatever, I see your boner. You're cheating on me, aren't you? LEMME SMELL YO D-"

And then he's not standing anymore, he's screaming, on the ground, and his jaw isn't right; his nose is gone, and his scream has died down to a pathetic gurgle. I stare in horror, cough, realize it's _me_ screaming for a corpsman, but it's too late.

Someone's gonna fucking pay.

I'm over the berm, and I can hear my team leader yelling my name, but fuck him. Fuck everything. A hadji pokes his head out and I blow him away, walk up and dead check him, and make my way into the shitbrick hut the motherfucker who killed my friend is holed up in.

My first step takes me into a hallway, and to my right, two bodies lie gracelessly on top of eachother, blood everywhere; _good._ Fuck them. A blood trail snakes to the back of the hallway. It only extends a few more feet before breaking off into two rooms facing opposite each other.

I continue on, and surprise, surprise, I come to the back of the house. To my left, a woman sits in the far corner of what looks to be a living room, glaring at me, two runty kids burrowing into her clothes to try and hide. They shake so hard I can see it from where I'm standing. I can't help but curl my lip in disgust, but I stay my itchy trigger finger. Fucking durks. Bring your _kids_ around this shit?

I turn my back on her, facing where the blood trail ends.

A single, sad motherfucker is propped against a wall, crying, holding his bloody gut. He groans and opens his eyes with a sniffle, and gasps. "Am-Rica! Yay Am-Rica, Love Boosh! Love Am-Rica, please!" Even as this motherfucker babbles on, he's reaching for his gat on the floor by his bloody feet.

I realize I'm out of ammo and throw my rifle over my shoulder; it'll hang from my sling and it won't get in the way while I dispense some _motherfucking justice_. I pat my leg for my sidearm, but it isn't there.

"Demyx!"

I turn my head to the sound- it's Axel's voice, but that doesn't make much sense, because I never deployed with Axel. I pat under my arms for my pistol, thinking maybe I was a tard and put on shoulder holsters today- but no dice. I can hear that motherfucker just leaning against the wall, babbling a slobbery mix of durk and broken English.

I turn back to him and pause, because wait a minute- wasn't he wearing fucking durk clothes a second ago? What I'm faced with now is a kid with blue jeans, a black shirt, and a black plastic chest plate and mask with clear plastic over the eyes. He's absolutely covered in blue paint.

Wasn't blue my…?

"..emyx?"

I turn around fully this time, because what the _fuck_ is going on, and there's Zexion, right there in the middle of a grass field, surrounded by inflatable boxes and shit. I stare at him- since when does he show up in my nightmares, after all?- and Axel steps into my line of sight, holding an arm out in front of Zexion like he thinks I'm gonna hurt him.

That's when I notice, for the first time, what's going on around me; the paintball field blazed in the sun, and a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered outside the net. Zexion stared at me with wide eyes, and I realized that expression, with his wide eyes and flushed cheeks, was fear.

_Fear_.

Behind me, someone wheezed through a mask, and it sounded like the kid was hyperventilating. The enemy team, who'd long since dropped their gear, was standing a little ways off. Each of them had blue paint. Two in the chest, one on each of their masks. I felt sick.

Axel, sans mask, had his hands out, open, visible, and he took slow steps towards me. All I could think about was Chris, his bloody hands scrabbling at the mess of his face as he died. His last words. I wondered if he would have said something different if he knew they'd be his last; I wondered what my last words would have been.

"Hey, man, it's cool, we're cool, dude…" Axel's voice was low, and he kept his eyes on me the whole time. I think I started shaking. Zexion took a step forward, and I fixed my gaze on him- he froze almost midstep. "Demyx…? Are you okay?"

The crowd whispered, the enemy team glared, Axel was murmuring meaningless words at me and Zexion's fear was as palpable as the bile on the back of my tongue.

I turned and vomited.

* * *

><p>I couldn't tell you an accurate time, if you asked me how long I went without surfacing.<p>

In reality, it couldn't have been more than a few weeks. But being constantly drunk- hours felt like minutes, and days, and was today Tuesday, or Saturday? I swear I'd run out of Nutella on Thursday, but when I open the cupboard on Friday, with my Jagermeister in hand, a fresh jar awaits my attention.

Axel didn't look me in the eye for… A while. I didn't speak to Zexion- not for lack of his trying, mind you- but the _fear_… I couldn't reconcile myself with his fear. In my drunken stupor, I could pretend it wasn't me. Maybe I stood between him and the monster; it was over my shoulder, and I just happened to catch the brunt of his gaze, was all.

The night I awakened fell on a Saturday, I think. Axel had gone to Roxas's some minutes or hours ago; I was watching the Office, content to chug my Jagerbomb like a thirsting man, when there was a sound outside my door, to which I responded with a gaze, and a sip of my drink. Normally, on a night like this- with a steady deluge and lightning flashing every so often, I wouldn't expect noises outside my door. I hoped it was a monster or something. I'd offer it a drink.

To my stupid surprise, in walked Zexion, soaking wet and furious- which, let's be honest, was frightening _and_ pretty fucking hot- but he didn't speak to me. Didn't say anything, really; he looked at me. And looked.

And looked.

With a sigh, and not a single word, he walked into my room and shut the door. I dozed- or more accurately, blanked, because red bull and jager doesn't let you sleep, but I was sufficiently out of my mind to not notice the passage of time. When Zexion reemerged from my room, he wore nothing but an unzipped hoodie from my closet- you're welcome, sir- and my own blue jeans that didn't fit him, anyway. Pretty sure he wasn't wearing underwear, and I was absolutely sure he wasn't wearing a shirt, but nobody in the room protested, so it was totally cool.

He dried himself with a towel- from my bathroom- as he stood in the doorway, watching me watch the Office. Dwight on my TV was doing that weird thing with his face, so I looked at Zexion instead.

We shared a long moment of silence- I finished my drink, and poured another- and he sighed, throwing down my towel.

"What are you doing, Demyx?"

Well, drinking. Duh.

"Uh. The Office?"

He walked over to me with a resigned caste to his shoulders. "No, not that, Demyx. What are you doing?"

I shrugged as he sat on my lap, biting my lip like a petulant child.

"I dunno. But I don't think you know either, so it's cool."

The hoodie was yellow. He toyed with the frayed cuffs without looking at me, his one blue eye focused firmly on thin fingers. "You don't think I know?" My stomach kind of turned to ice, right then, but he couldn't know anything. I hadn't told him.

But I couldn't tell him he didn't know that I knew that he didn't know- 'cause I don't think he would have liked that, and I know it wouldn't have come out right, out loud. Probably would've gotten mixed up on the way.

So with a shrug, I mumbled, "Nope, y'can't." I realized I was watching his hands when I glanced up because he didn't answer. He was chewing his lower lip, biting down on the flesh, and it looked like it hurt; I suddenly thought, I'd rather be the one biting his lip- not that hard, but that lip should totally be in my mouth right now. I gulped and let go a shaky sigh, instead.

He glanced at me, and back down again. I felt guilty.

Slowly, so that he could pull away if he wanted, I reached up and brushed the bangs away from his face, running my fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, leaned into my touch; for a second, I could pretend that the last few weeks or days or whatever hadn't happened. That I wasn't sitting here, stinking drunk, having finished off a fifth of whatever tonight's liquor of choice was. I could pretend Zexion wasn't afraid of me.

When he opened his eyes, the illusion broke, but it was nice while it lasted.

"Demyx. I…" he trailed off, biting his lip before starting again. "Tell me what's going on. Please."

I shrugged, suddenly feeling bitter about this. Him. Me. The Corps, and everything I'd done.

"What do y'want me to say?" I realized, belatedly, that having a serious conversation was much more difficult when you can't speak without slurring your words, but at that point, I gave no fucks. "I'm sorry, 'kay? I should have told you. I'm crazy. A fucking psycho. Is that what you wanna hear?" He frowned, the corner of his lip turning down, but he didn't say anything, so I plowed right on ahead.

"The whole fucking world thinks I'm crazy. It's not like PTSD is fucking documented condition, right? It's not like I have my reasons. It's not like they know jack fucking shit about what I went through- what _all_ us fucking go through, when we go over there. All these motherfuckers," I rant, "they just think they can look at me, and be like, 'oh, another baby-killing Marine,' but who the fuck are they? There's nothing wrong with me."

Zexion was looking somewhere in the vicinity of my collarbone, but he didn't argue with me. I think that just made me angrier.

"All I ever wanted was to make a difference. I gave up _everything_ for- for _them_. For _everyone_. So their fucking kids can sleep safe at night, so I can watch my fucking friends die in my nightmares. And what do I have to show for it?" I glare at my hands, sprawled beside Zexion's leg on my couch. "They say I'm crazy. And who loves a crazy person?"

I almost missed his response.

He glanced up at me, and back down to my chest- but I swore I'd heard him say something. I glared drunkenly at him, but he refused to meet my gaze.

He didn't repeat himself, and we sat in silence while the Office played behind him.

My buzz was beginning to wear off, and to my embarrassment, I could feel an indicative prickle behind my eyes that told me my body was on the verge of betraying me. My throat hurt from the lump I was steadily forming, and Zexion was still on my lap, playing with the hem of my shirt.

With a huff, I glanced at the rug, blinking furiously. I'd be fucking _damned_ if I showed any more weakness-

But then Zexion's palm was on my cheek, and his thumb rubbed circled just below the corner of my eye, and his voice was soothing. "It's alright, Demyx. You're alright." And I coughed, but I couldn't stop the whimper from escaping my lips, and his thumb came away wet. "There is nothing wrong with you." When I glanced at him through a film of tears, he smiled at me, that shy, secret smile, and I had to bite my lip and close my eyes.

"There's nothing wrong with me." My voice was thick with tears, and my throat burned; it felt like a lie, but I desperately, _desperately_ wanted to believe.

"Correct," he said, matter-of-factly, and I glanced up to meet his gaze, "There's nothing wrong with you. You're perfect. And-" he broke off, glanced away, before the resolve in his eyes hardened like cobalt steel, "-And I think I might love you for it."

And the floodgates broke. Tears streamed down my face as I buried myself in his arms, and he gathered up the broken pieces of me. Cradled them, like they were all at once impossibly precious and blindingly beautiful. He kissed the top of my head, and I shook in his arms, for once in my miserable life completely unafraid.

He repeated his mantra of, "It's okay, we're okay, you are perfect," in a low murmur as he stroked my back, and little by little, I began believing it.

And I like to think that's when I started the process of healing.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:** Ready for it? Here it is. I'm an asshole.

But here's to my first ever chaptered fic reaching completion; I've never made it this far in a fic before, and it couldn't have happened without all you cool kids who reviewed, alert'd, and favorite'd. So here's to _you_- I raise this heaping solo cup of Jameson to you faithful fans, who keep me going when the going gets rough.  
>Thanks for the love, and be on the lookout for new stuff from me in the near future.<p>

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><p>Movement in the kitchen woke me up.<p>

I heard it, the sound of cupboards opening and pots and pans, through my closed door. Burrowing my head into my pillow didn't help- too late, I was already awake. No going back now.

My eyes opened fully, and I rubbed them, blinking against the harsh light filtering in through my blinds- falling across my dark blue blankets and turning my room the color of the ocean. I yawned, stretched, and with a dramatic sigh, rolled over, letting my arm fall across Zexion's naked torso, half exposed by my sheets and back facing me.

He grunted. It was totes presh.

"Snookerbearrr."

"No." He grumbled and tried to burrow into his pillow like I had earlier.

"But Honeybeeeeee-"

"No. Sleep."

"But baaaaaaabe-"

He let loose a loud sigh and peeked over his shoulder at me. "Yes?"

I just _knew_ I could change his mind.

"You'll never guess what day it is."

His eyes narrowed and I couldn't hide my grin any longer- he went to cover his ears, but it was much too late for all that. I grabbed him around the waist, pinning his arm and pulling him closer, and he struggled in my grasp.

"FROM THE HALLS OF MONTEZU-UMA, TO THE SHORES OF TRIPOLIIII-"

"Demyx, I am going to smother you-"

"WE-EE FIGHT OUR COUNTRY'S BA-ATTLES IN THE AIR ON LAND AND SEAAA-"

"Demyx-"

"FIRST TO FIGHT FOR RIGHT AND FREE-EEDOM AND TO KEEP OUR HONOR CLEAN-"

His body went slack as he sighed in defeat.

"WE ARE PROUD TO CLAIM THE TI-ITLE, OF UNITED STATES MARINE!" From across the apartment, I heard Axel give a resounding, "Oorah!"

"Are you done?"

"For now."

He glared over his shoulder. "I'm going to smother you in your sleep."

I feigned hurt, pouting, "But why? You can't kill me. It's my _birthday_."

For all his talk about killing me in my sleep, he didn't hesitate to scoot backwards to be my little spoon when he was sure I wasn't going to sing the next two verses of the Marine's hymn. "Your birthday was in January, Dem." He never used my nickname when other people could hear. To this day, it gives me a thrill.

"I'll have you know that I am 237 this year. 237 is a _big_ year."

He huffed a quiet laugh and we lay there a moment, being all cuddly and warm in the morning light. In the kitchen, Roxas- or I assumed as much because Axel is incapable- was cooking breakfast. I heard sizzling.

"So since it's my birthday-"

Zexion gave a sleepy "hm?" and I figured I didn't have much time before he drifted back off to sleep, I plowed on. "You got a gift for the birthday boy, or what?"

He didn't answer for a moment, and I thought maybe he had gone back to sleep- but he rolled over suddenly, and my hand found its way to his hip.

Seeing as how we were both naked below my sheets (dark blue comforter, white everything else), I took a moment to reacquaint myself with his fairly new chest tattoo. The looping script, stretching across from armpit to armpit, read simply, "When love is not madness, it is not love". Glancing back up, I met his sleepy gaze with my own, and he furrowed his brow.

"So what exactly does the birthday boy want for his gift?"

I grinned and wiggled my eyebrows. "Well…"

"Well?" He smirked at me, reaching up to trace his fingers along my cheek before trailing them down my neck, my chest, stopping_ just_ before my dick. "That wasn't a particularly informative answer."

Just his hand being that close made it twitch- I was soft, but I really doubted I'd stay that way for long if he kept looking at me like that. I tried to glare, but I wouldn't be horribly upset if it turned out as a pout.

"You know, you're a tea-" and I choked on my words when he, feather light, took hold of me. That smirk was doing crazy things to my mind. He knew, _really_ knew, what got me- hard and fast is great and all, but soft touches could get me from zero to sixty in no time. He stroked me slowly, and I got all shivery, my breathing shaky.

My eyes had closed without my noticing, so I was surprised when he leaned in and kissed me- slowing the movement of his hand a little, and I may or may not have groaned into his mouth. It was a long minute before we came up for air. I opened my eyes to a very self-satisfied Zexion.

"You are so _mean_, ya know that?"

He grinned. "I just want to hear you beg, Demyx."

I'm pretty sure he felt my dick twitch at that, because he huffed a laugh against my lips. I scowled at my traitorous body. "You sir, are infuriating."

The corners of his eyes crinkled up with his grin. "Don't you mean _fucking_ infuriating?" We giggled at the old joke- just take that in for a second, naked, giggling Zexion- and for a moment, we sat there in silence. Thanks to his light touches, I was hard. I wasn't sure if I could take much more of it, but he continued the slow trailing of his fingers around my member.

"Hey…" Zexion murmured, halting his movements. He had a faraway look in his eyes. Then he blinked and I came back into focus. "You know… You know I'm proud of you, right?" I felt suddenly bashful; I mean, I guess it was the joke that brought it up- a joke we'd shared since we started dating. And it was hard to believe so much time had passed, ten months of therapy and many, many sleepless nights later. But it had all led to mornings where I could wake up with a guy I'm crazy about in a place where I didn't have to be afraid.

"Psh," I said, waving all the serious away, "I haven't done much."

His grip on me became more firm in a rather abrupt manner, and I sucked in a surprised breath. His lips turned up at the corner, but his voice was still low and serious. "No. You've done amazing things. Not everyone has the courage to get help. And you've done so much, made so much progress. I really am proud of you."

I let out a shaky laugh, because _man_, with how strong his grip was, if he started moving his hand, I would probably lose all thought-processing abilities. I spoke before he could make me lose my mind.

"Yeah, well, not everyone has you, do they? You're worth all of it."

He blushed furiously then- first one of the day, and counting- and stuttered, but this time it was me who leaned in for a kiss. "You really are."

Zexion gave me a brilliant smile as he broke away, letting me go and sitting up. I started whining, but he cut me off when he straddled me- and I noticed how hard _he_ was. Guess I couldn't complain.

He sat back on his heels, on my waist- and the pressure felt absolutely _glorious_ on my member. I couldn't keep my hips from twitching, and Zexion smirked as he rested his hands on my stomach. "I'm sorry, is there something I can help you with?"

I growled, because that _tease_, but before I could flip us, he was standing on his knees, erection leaning out away from him. There was a bead of pre-come on the tip. "Uh. Fuck." What? My brain stopped working. "Zexion." He grinned at me, before glancing to the bedside table. I didn't have to follow his gaze to know he was reaching for lube- just watch as he stretched to get it, leaning back to sit on his heels when he did.

The grin was back, but it had a distinctly more devilish quality to it as he- while keeping his eyes locked firmly on mine- poured the slick stuff on his hand, and reached around to his ass.

I realized I was biting my lip when I tasted blood but I really couldn't have care less.

Zexion's eyes closed and his head fell back as he fingered himself, breath coming out in shaky gasps and sighs. He didn't even touch his dick; just started moving his hips against his hand. "_Demyx, Demyx, Demyx_…" my name on his lips like that made me just about fuck him into the mattress- and he fucking _knew_ what he did to me, but entranced as I was with the show, I forgot how to move.

He removed his fingers from himself with a wet noise, before grabbing my dick with a slippery hand. I groaned then, didn't care if I was loud or not, and he pumped once or twice, coating me before positioning the head of my cock at his entrance.

It was always like this- he would look me in the eye as he took me in, and I would be hard pressed not to come just from that.

My hands rested on his hips, having found their way there of their own accord. With a quick breath, and that gorgeous, crazy eye contact, he started easing himself onto me. I couldn't think, could barely breath; you'd think the sex would get boring after a while, but it never did, not with Zexion. As he took me in fully, he relaxed, breathing a shaky sigh. I stayed put.

"You good?"

He nodded, closing his eyes as he lifted himself- this time, he came back down hard. And again. And again.

The rhythm we worked up was slow, and hard- he likes it like that, harder, deeper, but not necessarily faster- and we were both pretty quiet. But I like the noises he makes; I love teasing the gasps and sighs, whimpers and the moans. My favorite is my name, of course, but that kind of goes without saying.

I was rewarded with my name when I took hold of his cock, weeping now and spilling onto my stomach. I stroked in time with my thrusts, and Zexion- quiet, composed little Zexion- dissolved into a whispering rush. "Demyx, Demyx, please, don't- I'm going to- _please,_ I can't-" but it was my turn to grin, thrusting again, _hard_, before he whispered one last "_Fuck_" as he came in my hand.

Resting his ass on my hips, Zexion caught his breath. I was still hard inside him, but I didn't mind. His hands lay flat on my chest, his eyes closed and head bowed. A drop of sweat fell from his nose.

"You're still hard."

I shrugged, grinning. "Yeah, well, y'know. You have that effect on me."

He laughed quietly but his hips started moving again- and he _squeezed _me. Hands still on my chest, he looked down at me, smirking, and I was once again incapable of speech.

It didn't take long for me to finish, him riding me, hard- he even got another one, stroking himself as I came inside of him.

When we finished, he slipped off of me, curling up to my side. My arm was his pillow and I can't say I've ever had a better use for it, anyway.

"So how was that for a birthday present?"

I couldn't control my laughter, but when it finally died down, I rolled over and hugged him with my non-pillow arm. "That's exactly how Marines are supposed to celebrate our birthday. It might even be in the Marine Corps Order. Birthday tradition, ya know."

I felt his grin against my skin, and for a few minutes, we soaked in the post orgasmic glow. I'd never felt better.

"I feel so lucky," his voice murmured from my chest, quiet. I felt like the entirety of my existence had led up to this; to him. "I feel so lucky to have found you, Demyx."

The way he said it made me feel like- like we were old friends, like I had known him my whole life, but somewhere along the way, we'd gotten separated. And that he was lost until we met again.

"Ah, get that crazy talk out of here," I replied, voice low in his ear, "I'm the lucky one. Everything I've been through has led to me being with you. I'm crazy about you, ya know, and if it meant I got to be with you, I'd do it all again."

He didn't reply for a while, just buried his face in my neck, laying butterfly kisses against my skin. When he did speak, it was a hushed breath against my collarbone.

"Do you mean that? Really?"

His voice was small even that close to my ear. I hugged him harder, thinking over it all; the heartache, the fear, the sleepless nights, and the mornings with Zexion in my arms, the sound of his voice, and his shy, secret smile. There was nothing I would not have done to be there.

"For you, babe?" I whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple, "I'd go above and beyond."

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><p>238 years this year, oorah? Thanks for reading guys, let me know what you thought of this whole thing.<p>

Semper!

**-ARA**


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